Insurgent Z: A Zombie Novel (25 page)

He turned and made quick steps up the rickety planks of the porch. The front door was partially open. It was obvious where the death smell concentrated from.

Mason barreled through with the gun aimed to shoot. Three dead bodies—all zombies from what he could tell—lay on the floor of the living room. The living room connected to an open kitchen, which was empty. Doors to two other rooms were on the opposite side. One door was open and one was shut. Shuffling noises and faint scraps on walls came from behind the shut door.

He grabbed the doorknob with a twist and pushed it open. It bounced off a body standing right in the line of fire. Mason rammed the door with his shoulder, sending the zombie to the ground. Two quick shots from his gun finished the monster. A quick look around ensured the area was clear.

A few more steps and he was back outside and heading to the barn. It was an old pole barn probably made from discarded telephone poles and scrap wood left over from the construction of the main house. A faded blue Ford tractor parked in the middle looked operational, despite the rust and the fact the information tag showed the production date was 1938. This was a tractor worth restoring if the opportunity presented itself.

“Ah, ha! Come to Poppa!” Mason snatched up the five-gallon fuel container underneath a workbench and fast timed it to the Hummer. The can was near full—at least four gallons. This would more than make up for the fuel he wasted while the truck idled at the house.

The fuel cap twisted off. Mason lifted the bottom of the can until the last drop dripped into the tank. The fuel can hit the ground a few feet away with a quick flip of his wrist. Mason wiped his hands on his thighs and hopped into the truck.

“We heard shots,” Troy said.

“Had a zombie—female—closed up in a bedroom. Three dead in the living room. Headshots. My guess is a man protecting his family managed to win the battle, but lost the war, at least as far as his wife and son were concerned.”

“Why do you think he tied the boy outside to that tree?” Rosella asked.

“I’m not sure.” Mason backed the truck up, and then headed to the open road leading to freedom. “Maybe he didn’t want to lock the kid in a dull room. Maybe he wanted him to be outside, just like any boy his age would want. Go outside and play. Chase crickets and burn ants with a magnifying glass. I guess he just felt sorry for his son and didn’t know what else to do.”

“What do you think happened to the father?” Rosella said.

“I don’t think he was infected, or he wouldn’t have bothered confining his wife and son. I’m guessing he couldn’t take another moment staying around them. There was nothing he could do to help. So he just left.”

“I can’t imagine all the different stories that could be told by each family in Botte. I bet there would be enough to fill a set of encyclopedias,” Rosella said.

“Probably so, but at a certain point, I’m sure the stories would sound repetitive.”

“What about our story?”

Mason thought a minute. “I don’t know. I’m still writing this one. If I have any control on how it ends. It may be the most unique story of all.”

.     

Chapter 20

Ready for Transport

A sickening feeling gripped Mason’s stomach as the Humvee tore down the asphalt highway. A somber mood weighed on everyone’s spirits. Joyce’s death had been a horrible thing to witness. The murder of the two kids, even though Mason still maintained that Beaux was a little punk, was worse. They were trapped in Botte, and the military had done an excellent job of ensuring no one escaped. The Coast Guard choosing to blow up a boat, without so much as a warning, spoke volumes about the dire situation they were in. Now he was driving them to their deaths, it seemed. How would the military react to five people showing up unannounced at their patrolled barricade? He guessed they would find out soon. Mason chuckled, humorlessly. These were the same people that used him as bait in Iraq. The sky appeared darker than normal, suggesting a Gulf storm was about to roll in. Botte could use a good wash.

“How’s everyone doing?” Mason asked, checking the rearview mirror. He saw four faces staring off into space.

“As well as can be, given the shit we’ve been through,” Troy said, meekly. He tapped his fingers against the window, never taking his gaze away. 

“Mitch, did you get enough to eat on the ride over to the marina? You feeling better?”

“Yeah, buddy. Doing much better now. You know how people say stuff like, ‘I’m starving,’ when they haven’t eaten in a few hours? Well, let me tell you, another day trapped inside that tower, and I was going to have to start making some pretty gross choices.”

Mason said nothing to that. There wasn’t much to be said. If presented with the same situation, he probably would have morbid thoughts running through his mind, too. 

The two women remained silent, and stared blankly out the window, peering into the inky night. He wished he could give them a comforting word, but any mention of hope at this point would ring hollow. The high beams cut into the darkness. Mason drove fast, but cautious. He knew at any moment a zombie could stumble in his path, and the results could, potentially, be disastrous. None of them had bothered to buckle up this time.

“I’m scared. I don’t know what to expect when we reach the blockade,” Rosella said.

“I’d be lying to you if I told you I wasn’t scared, too,” Mason said, “but Troy, Mitch and I are all officers. Mitch and I are Rangers, for life. I’m hoping that carries some weight with whoever we meet at that barricade.”

“If we meet anyone
alive
at the blockade,” Troy added.

“How much longer do we have?” Skylar asked.

“It’s not too much farther. Probably another 20 minutes. I’m just worrying about one thing at a time. The first is this drive. I’m paranoid that something is going to jump in the road, and I don’t mean a deer.”

“This Humvee is big. Would make short work of anything that stepped in its path,” Troy said.

“You’re probably right, but I don’t want to test that theory.”

Luckily, Troy’s theory wasn’t tested. Mason turned on the main highway that led to the inevitable blockade. Tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickled. A chill rushed through his body. This was it. This felt like war, all over again. He hoped they would have a chance to explain their predicament when they arrived and a barrage of gunfire wouldn’t be their only welcome. Up ahead, he saw the blinking lights on top of orange and white striped barricades. As he drove closer, he brought the Humvee to a smooth stop. Nobody wanted to leave the vehicle.

Around them was what remained of a road blockade. A military issue Jeep set vacant, its sides pocked with bullet holes. Corpses littered the ground, most with nasty head wounds. Some had been chewed on, and white bone gleamed in the moonlight, stripped of all flesh. A few corpses were still gripping an appendage as they lay, motionless. There was no sign of any military presence.

“What happened?” Rosella said, trembling.

“It looks like our boys were overrun,” Mason said. “This place is as dead as Botte. I don’t see any of those things stumbling around, but I can’t be sure.”

“Your call, Sheriff,” Troy said.

“I say we do a little recon. A few of those bodies on the ground are servicemen. We could sure use their ammo. Maybe syphon some fuel from the Jeeps. Let me go out first and make sure it’s safe.”

Mason exited the Humvee and was greeted by the sticky, warm air. The night was silent, and Mason was perplexed by not hearing the violins of crickets or the baritone croaks of frogs. The entire world seemed dead. He looked around, his pistol drawn and at the ready. “Hello. Anyone here?” he called. His question went unanswered. He listened for any sound that would signal danger, but heard nothing. He looked over to the others inside the vehicle. “All clear,” he said, and the others got out.

Troy and Mitch grabbed discarded guns and looted the belts of corpses for ammo. Skylar and Rosella searched for anything useful. Mason grabbed a large fuel can off the back of their Humvee and approached a badly damaged Jeep. He went to work siphoning fuel. It appeared they were safe. Mason turned and watched the others forage for supplies. He couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy. He sucked on a rubber hose he’d inserted into the Jeep’s fuel tank, spitting profusely as his mouth filled with diesel. The hose was inserted into the fuel can and soon a rhythm of liquid gently splashing into plastic was the only sound in the world. As soon as the container was full, he’d gather the rest, and they’d make a break for it. Hopefully, they could get to the next town over where he could call every news outlet possible. There was no way the military was going to cover this one up. Not again. Not on his watch.

“Hey, look at this,” Skylar said, holding up a flare.

Mason was about to tell her to add it to their stuff, when a pair of tattered and rotten hands shot from the gloom and wrapped around Skylar’s neck.

A meek cry of surprise escaped her dry mouth, as the moonlight caught a glimmer of grimy teeth launching toward Skylar’s toned neck. Mason watched in horror as the face buried into Skylar, and returned upward with a strip of wriggling flesh dangling from its maw.

Skylar found her voice and let out a high-pitched shriek that appeared to wake the night. Birds, insects, and nocturnal mammals seemed to come alive and meet her screams with their own night calls. Over them all, Mason heard Troy.

“Skylar! No!” Troy’s voice cracked as he made a mad dash toward his wife, knocking Mason out of the way, and putting him on the ground.

The large man’s fist slammed into the creature’s face, collapsing its skull. It fell to the grassy floor. Troy wasted no time in raising his large boots, and stomping on the zombie, until its face was nothing more than a splattered patch of gore slowly being absorbed by the dry soil.

A flurry of moans sounded, and Mason whipped around. Mitch and Rosella ran to him, and the three formed a fighter’s position. Troy collapsed onto the ground, taking Skylar in his arms as she wept. He returned her tears with sobs of his own.

“Baby, it’s going to be all right. I promise.” He pressed his shirt to her neck to try to slow the bleeding.

Dozens of zombies appeared from nowhere, crawling off the ground, and exiting from the stalled vehicles. The setup of the blockade made a natural chokepoint. Mason was certain they could get the zombies to go through the narrow opening and then pick them off one by one, but first, he needed Troy to get Skylar to safety.

“Big man, take Skylar and get her behind the blockade. We can dispatch the zombies as they filter in, but we need to get her to safety.”

Troy nodded and gently lifted his wife off the ground. He then ran through the blockade to the other side, where he laid her on the bed of a large truck carrying unmarked crates.

Mason, Rosella, and Mitch moved as one, and got behind the blockade just as the first decomposing ghoul shambled forward. Mason raised his gun, ready to make the shot that would send the zombie to eternal rest, when a red dot appeared in the center of the zombie’s head, and vaporized it.

From behind him, more red dots appeared, all focusing on the approaching zombies, and when a dot appeared, the head would disappear.

“Everyone, get down. Now!” Mason ordered as he flung himself to the ground.

Bodies dropped. The realization of someone behind them shooting chilled his blood and made him worry if their saviors would eventually be their executioners.

“All clear!” A husky voice rang out from the distance. “Everyone, slowly get off the ground.”

Mason and his crew cautiously rose, ensuring hands were high. Three soldiers clad in riot gear and donning full face respirators stepped forward, guns at the ready.

One shone a flashlight in Mason’s face, and then proceeded to the others. Mason wasn’t sure what they were looking for. It was obvious they hadn’t been turned.

“Over here. We got one,” a soldier’s voice called, modified by the microphone inside the respirator.

Mason glanced over and saw the soldier was focused on Skylar.

“She needs help,” Troy pleaded. “One of those fucks bit her, and she needs to see a doctor right away. She’ll bleed out if we don’t do something. Please, don’t let my wife die.”

The soldier shook his head and motioned for the two soldiers to move Troy away. “We have a treatment that is 100% effective, sir. I can give it to her now.”

“Yes, please. Anything to save her.”

Without a word, the soldier removed his sidearm and put a bullet in Skylar’s head. Her limbs shot violently to her side and then went limp. Tears flowed from Mason’s eyes at the hellish sound of anguish and disbelief that escaped from Troy’s mouth. Rosella clutched to Mitch, sobbing.

Troy ran to his wife’s corpse and threw himself on top of it, as if trying to shield Skylar from any more harm. His body rocked with deep sobs as he cradled her limp form against his chest.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the disease is fatal. There is no cure other than a merciful bullet to the head. She would have turned and attacked you,” the soldier who’d pulled the trigger said. His voice lacked compassion.

“There was time. There was time to say goodbye at least.” The sorrow in Troy’s voice was replaced with anger. “My wife deserved to know what was going to happen. Not be shot down like some sick dog.”

“Sir, I understand your grief, but that’s our call. Not yours.”

“Not my call. Guess you’re right. Guess this isn’t your call either.”

“Sir?”

Troy reached for his pistol and unloaded the chamber into the soldier’s chest. The soldier fell back, his machine gun firing into the air as he slid on the slick pavement. Troy focused the gun on the other two soldiers and pulled the trigger.

Mason ran toward Mitch and Rosella, tackling them to the ground, not wanting either to be hit from the wild gun battle he knew would ensue.

“You, motherfuckers! I’ll kill you all!” Troy said, pulling the trigger.

A hollow click sounded. The gun was empty.

“Troy, get down!” Mason pleaded, but the pleas fell on deaf ears.

Troy tried to fire again, but his gun clicked empty. He brought the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Sadly, there was no merciful bullet left behind in the chamber. Multiple red dots appeared on his chest. Troy didn’t have time for a last word before bullets ripped his body apart. He twisted in the air and fell face forward on the hard road. Tears flowed uncontrollably from Mason’s eyes. His friend had just been killed in front of his face, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It felt like Iraq all over again.

“Everyone else, stay down,” Mason called to Rosella and Mitch, hoping they hadn’t been hit by the barrage that ended Troy’s life.

Mason’s breath escaped in hurried gasps as his heart raced a mile a minute. Footsteps echoed in the night as heavy boots clomped down the highway toward them. Mason realized they had just walked into a trap. It wasn’t a blockade anymore, it was an ambush. The soldiers had been stationed there in hiding, waiting to gun down anyone who tried to escape this awful place—living or dead. 

“This is Lt. Danielson of the United States Army. You will rise slowly to your feet with your hands above your head. Any suspicious movement will result in you being shot. Call out your names and identify yourselves, so we know how many of you there are.”

“Mitch Blackwell.”

“Rosella Green.”

“Mason Guillot.”

“Now, get to your feet and remain still,” Danielson ordered.

The three rose. Mason was relieved to see Rosella and Mitch had survived the onslaught with no injuries. He looked down at the bodies of Troy and Skylar. Rage filled him at the sight of his two friends lying broken and bleeding on the asphalt. Guilt bubbled to the surface. His plan to go to the blockade had resulted in the loss of more life, and worse, the lives of his friends. His fists curled into tight balls as his arms stretched upward.

Five soldiers appeared from the darkness, their faces hid behind full face respirators.

Each gripped an M16. Two broke off and approached their fallen comrade. They checked for vitals, but soon one gave the slash across the throat motion to Danielson, letting him know the soldier has expired. Danielson returned a thumbs down gesture. One of the soldiers removed the fallen man’s respirator. The other stood over him and fired two short bursts into the dead man’s skull. After the deed had been done, the two picked up the corpse and brought it from where the others had emerged.