August Burning (Book 3): Last Stand (7 page)

Adira led her first target by a hair, and pulled the trigger viciously with a sweaty finger. The shot embedded itself in the dirt. Cursing, Adira adjusted her stance, and selected another. This time, she squeezed, and the bullet found purchase with a satisfying a detonation of flesh.

Adira fired again, and again, the weapon discharging loudly in the dusk. The sun was setting. She could see the ATVs being loaded up; Kylie was organizing. A wall of infected was about to hit them. Adira watched the panic, barely contained before, now explode on the hilltop. Through the scope, she saw men fighting with the bows as melee weapons as the infected fell among them. Kylie flipped her pistol around and used it as a club to send the foe tumbling back down the incline.

The sniper rifle put a round through an infected’s shoulder, decapitating the foe. Her infected target used his remaining hand to rip half a Wolf Trooper’s painted face off. Three ATV’s were already speeding away, along the top of the earthen dam towards Adira’s position in the forest.

A single ATV remained on the crest, surrounded by three survivors. As Kylie fended off another attacker, the Wolf trooper with half his face torn off mounted the ATV and gunned it. Adira snarled audibly as he attempted to speed away from the danger. He hadn’t made it twenty feet before he was flung back from the vehicle, left to clutch a smoking wound in his chest. Adira reloaded the rifle.

Kylie and the final trooper sprinted to it, leaving the wounded man rolling in the grass. As the final ATV sped away, the infected fell on the coward.

Adira spun on her heel; they had to warn the Citadel.

Near the North Eastern Ravines, The Church

Liam hoisted the shotgun, and was reassured. He looked around in the church; some of the others here had .22s. They would be useless. Passing through the rotting pews, he stared down his compatriots with a steely gaze. They were no heroes. The survivors around him were slower, weaker, more fearful, and less aggressive than those in the Eagle, the Lion, or the Wolf. These were the last line of defense, and as a result, they were the weakest line.

Liam stopped to aid a wide-eyed girl with high, elegant cheekbones. He kneeled between the pews, and saw her eyes flash over his uniform and heavy boots. He tried to smile. “Your name is Cassidy, right?”

She smiled sheepishly, and ran her fingers over her legs. “Yeah. And obviously I know who you are.”

“I didn’t assume that,” he said with a smile.

Her smile faded. “Is this it?”

Liam stiffened, feeling the others in the room leaning in. He fixed his eyes on her sigil, the bear sewn to her jacket. “I’d be lying if I said I knew.”

“You’ve been here since the beginning, right? Where else would we go?”

Liam shook his head. “Nowhere. We fight here. What weapon do you have?”

She held up her hands, and then tapped a flare gun on her belt. “They ran out. I’m supposed to fire the flare if you tell me to. We already fired our blue and yellow. This one’s black and red. Blue and yellow if we think we need help, black and red if we are being overrun,” she said sheepishly.

Liam reached out, and despite his own callousness, clutched her clammy hand. “You won’t need that, today,” he lied.

As he rose, he heard a voice behind him, from a man, his tired face etched with deep lines of mud. “I heard there were hundreds. We don’t stand a chance.”

Another rose, bright eyed and ruby red. “The Lion has never been broken. Jaxton won’t let them enter our valley.”

“It’s never been like this before. There are too many of them. We should be getting out the other side.”

Liam held up his hand. “Shut your mouth, coward. There are groups of men and women moving back from the fields, the fisheries, all the other settlements. If the Bear retreats, the infected will fall on them before they reach the Citadel.”

The face with muddy lines tightened, and his hands clutched his pathetic rifle. “Then they’ve already been told to retreat. It must be serious.”

Liam addressed them all, the nine feeble survivors standing at attention in the little musty church. “I won’t have your fear infecting the ranks. If anyone wants to go back, go back now. I don’t need you.”

The grubby man spat. “You’re letting us go?”

“How would I compel you to stay?”

He shrugged, and took three steps towards the green wooden doors, forced ajar. Two others hustled out with feverish eyes, leaving Liam and six others remaining. Only in the Bear, Liam thought.

“Right. I’m going to the steeple. The rest of you, onto the roofs of the main street. The infected can’t be far.”

No one moved, to Liam’ annoyance. He hefted his shotgun and his heavy boots thudded on the wooden floor. At his back, the others sprung into action.

Working his way to the back of the church, Liam found his reinforcements. Most of the civilians had fled the main street settlements not one hour before. Not these. A portly matron wearing a jean skirt, two red-faced teenagers, and an old man with wispy hair stood in his way, armed with axes and shovels.

Liam stared down at them. “Why didn’t you evacuate with the rest of them?”

The matron chuckled, not intimidated by the bear in the least. “This here is our Church. What kind of disciples would we be if we abandoned it in this hour of need?”

“You’re all going to die,” Liam snarled, enraged at their stupidity. “Have you ever fought the infected?” He snatched one of the acne-ridden teenagers’ shovels and tossed it aside. “Clearly not.”

“We fight with or without your help, boy.” The old man showed his rotting teeth and spat.

The moment hung in the air, till Liam shook his head clear. “Don’t let them up behind us. We’ll be on the rooftops.”

…

Liam kicked out the wooden grating at the top of the tiny steeple, thirty feet off the ground. He had a straight view of the main street of town, and spied the others clambering atop the second story buildings. He nodded in earnest to Cassidy, who clutched the flare gun nervously as she crouched behind another with a rifle.

Liam crouched on the splintering floor and loaded his slugs carefully. He only had 17. He could see the edge of town in the early morning light, and then beyond where the deeper woods began a few hundred feet in the distance. Aside from his breathing, all was silent. His eyes drifted to the Eastern ridge beyond, which cast a looming shadow across the town. He had heard the latest report from a runner of the Wolf.

The infected had entered the valley in force.

Liam shot a glance far behind him to the Western ridge, where he knew Jaxton was with thirty men. He imagined them up there, somewhere in that greenery, butchering the foe five hundred feet above the valley floor.

Maybe his brothers had taken care of the breach, and put it down with their usual efficiency. Maybe not, Liam conceded.

As the hour stretched on, the others lost their attentiveness. Liam could see them slouching against the tiny walls on the roofs, their firearms out of hand. Not one maintained their gaze down the main street. The street had to be held, if the farmers and fishers were to make their long trek back to the Citadel’s brick walls.

Liam squinted in the sun. There was motion ahead, below the trees at the settlement’s end. He whistled loud and high, and the others snapped out of their daydreams. They peered over the walls. Liam gripped the shotgun and looked down. His heart dropped. There were at least a dozen of the enemy, moving fast towards the church. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

He waited till the first target was fifty feet away, sprinting past the old ice cream store. The shotgun crashed back against his shoulder. The others on the rooftops yelled to hide their fear and started firing their semi-automatic squirrel rifles at the incoming infected. Their tiny bullets were absorbed by decaying, festering bodies.

Liam saw his target crumple under the power of his slugs. Breathing deeply, he selected another as it tore through a low fence. He missed. Cursing, he tried again. His shot took the infected woman in the arm, but it kept going. Would the others take it down? He selected a new target, dodging in between several crashed cars. He fired. Miss.

“Fuck,” he cursed again. His shots were too panicky. He closed his eyes, and tried to calm himself. But all he could focus on was the frantic rifle fire from his compatriots. Opening his eyes, he saw three infected pass below his steeple and break into the main part of town. His units were firing wildly, missing three in four shots. Another trio of infected passed below him, and Liam could see only three corpses on the hot asphalt.

He adjusted the weapon, and took a woman’s head off at the neck. He set his jaw in triumph, pleased at the effect. Suddenly there were another dozen, streaking towards his position. Liam felt his shotgun slam back into his shoulder four more times, and they were still swarming beneath the church.

Someone was screaming at him. It was Cassidy, standing atop the general store. She was waving her slender arms frantically.

Liam bit his lip, and growled in resignation; he signaled her. Two seconds later, he watched a black and red flare soaring into the sky. They could not hold the town.

The Citadel

“There’s another one.”

“Who’s it from? Can you tell?”

There was a pause. “Looks like it could be Main Street. Bear Unit. Liam in command possibly.”

The spotters watched the tiny flare ascend into the blue sky on a summer day. “That’s the fifth so far.”

“What were they covering?”

“All the food crews. They’re still not back.”

“Where are they now?”

“I’d guess Browning Way, that long straight stretch before the suburbs start. The open road. There’s not much forest there.”

“Liam said we should tell Troy if they fired another.”

“What the fuck is going on?” The spotters yanked their heads around at the familiar voice. Troy was hobbling towards them on his crutches; somehow he had scaled the latter, but the men were not surprised. Troy was a tough man.

“Sir! Every sector has fired a flare of some sort at this point. They are all under assault. We do not know who is where, or what units are still holding.”

Troy scratched his shaved head and growled. “You’re fucking useless then!” He leaned a bit too far to the side, and shrieked. Troy tumbled to the rooftop in pain, cursing his broken knee.

“Sir!”

“Are you alright!?”

Troy did not move from the rooftop, and instead rolled over, so he was staring at the dusky sky overhead.

“Sir?”

Troy did not move. “The valley is going to fall, boys. Start arming the civilians and sealing the exits. Bring all the horses inside. We might need the food.”

Chapter Eight

Near the North Ravine, Mansion Outpost

“What are your orders, sir?”

Wilder fought to ask his men questions, knowing he had to exert his authority. “We did our duty. We set Leeroy free outside the valley walls. Now we have a duty to respond to this flare.”

“Sir.” His men nodded, and prepared to check weapons and ammunition.

Wilder fought not to smile. They trusted him. This would be a quick operation, he was sure. Maybe five or six zombies. “Good. After we check this breach…and I estimate it won’t take long…we’ll head back to the Citadel to re-link with Troy and the rest of the team. Who’s in the Mansion?”

“The Citadel moved a team of Wolf troopers and civilians into the Mansion the morning after we cleared it of traitors.”

“Their numbers?”

“Eight total sir.”

Wilder nodded, thrilled with the joy of being in true command for the first time. He had followed Troy’s lead for so long. It was unfortunate Troy had been injured, of course, but Wilder would not complain. “Let’s move.” Before Wilder could take a step, he saw something arcing into the sky behind him. “Is that a black and red?”

“Someone’s being overrun? How is that even possible?”

“It has to be a mistake. It would take almost a hundred infected to overrun a ravine. C’mon.”

Wilder set the pace, and ignored the revolt his lungs had staged against him. The others would not let him down. He could not let them down. Fear drove him forward. He was terrified of being found unfit for the command. For months, Troy had trained him as his right hand man. Now, Wilder was alone with four of the Eagle troopers. His men were the fastest and toughest in the valley, born hunters and warriors. Their equipment was equal to none, and they knew it. Each man had a well-oiled M4 assault rifle, several spare magazines, a handful of grenades, a standard issue sidearm and several clips, and military grade clothing and goggles.

Wilder tapped the eagle sigil sewn onto his camouflage subconsciously, and re-strapped the bulletproof vest. He counted his magazines once more on the run, and re-clipped his holster strap.