These Dead Lands: Immolation (27 page)

Munn nodded at the screen. “I don’t see too many dead in the area, but we’ll need security. Trains aren’t quiet, and what we’ll need to do is going to make a lot of noise.”

“How much time will you need on site to make all of that happen?”

“It’s hard to guess, sir. Depends on what kinds of problems we run into once we’re on the ground. If everything goes without a hitch, it’ll take several hours just to configure the cars. I’ll have to start up each engine and go through the checklist procedures before I can even move the engines.” Munn spread his hands. “There just isn’t a fast way to go about this, sir.”

Hastings sighed. It wasn’t the best news in the world, but everything Munn said made sense. He certainly seemed thorough enough.

“I understand,” Hastings said. “I’ll make sure you have the security you need. Go ahead and identify the personnel you’ll need for this operation. I’ll leave it to you to plan on how best to accomplish the tasks that need to be done. Let either Sergeant Ballantine or me know when you’re ready to issue the OPORD to your people, and one of us will sit in on it. Just focus on what your people will need to do once we are on the objective. I’ll handle getting us there and the rest.”

The UAV operator gasped. “Sir, you might want to take a look at this.”

Hastings and Ballantine turned back to the RVT. On the screen, what looked to be a small group of survivors in some sort of mall complex were busily loading food from one of the restaurants into their vehicles. Unfortunately, a growing number of zombies were converging on them. Some of the survivors began shooting at the dead. Several necrotic bodies fell in the parking lot, while some merely hitched and stumbled. Other zombies actually tripped over the newly dispatched dead, and for a moment, Hastings thought the survivors might have a chance. But the numbers of the dead were too great, and they advanced upon the living like a slow-moving swarm.

Those people need to get the hell out of there
.

As if reading his mind, the survivors abandoned the restaurant and fell back to their vehicles—but they were already out of time. Three reekers pulled down one of the survivors trying to provide cover fire while the rest of the group retreated. Even though there was no audio, Hastings could hear the clamor of the fight in his mind. He’d been there. He knew what it was like.

As the rest of the group hustled back to their vehicles, the first of the runners hit. The fast-moving zombie tore past its slower brethren and darted across the pavement. A man with a thick beard and long hair fired at it with a shotgun. Either he missed or he was firing bird shot, because the zombie took him down like a defensive end sacking a quarterback. Two members of the group stopped and tried to help their fallen comrade. More runners came at them, and slower moving shamblers closed in on the trio.

Hastings glanced at Ballantine. The big sergeant’s eyes were fixed on the screen. They both knew how the story was going to end, but they couldn’t stop looking at the video feed.

Fighting the dead on all sides, the three remaining survivors managed to make it back to one of the vehicles. One pulled open the driver’s door of the panel van and scrambled in behind the wheel. The second was laying down cover fire, but the third was apparently out of ammunition because he was swinging his rifle around like a club. Both fell beneath the swarm, fighting to the end, even as they were being eaten alive.

The last survivor managed to close the van door just in time. An instant later, the vehicle was completely surrounded by a massive ring of dead. The van began to rock from side to side as the corpses pounded at it with lifeless hands.

If the van be rockin’, don’t be knockin’.
The inane slogan ran through Hastings’s mind, and he shook his head to clear it.

The van pushed forward through the sea of the dead, knocking the ghouls to the pavement. The vehicle bumped and lurched as ran over the corpses, leaving a wake of broken bodies—bodies that still squirmed and tried to give chase, despite the damage done to their extremities. More reekers piled up at the front bumper, and the vehicle slowed, bogged down by the mass of putrid flesh opposing it. Hastings could imagine the panicked driver gunning the engine in a bid for freedom. The van lurched forward again in a rising cloud of burning rubber and exhaust. The vehicle broke through the cordon of bodies, sending several flying through the air as it careened around the parking lot, fishtailing now and then, as if out of control. After barely missing a light post, the driver recovered control, and the van sped off down the road.

“Do you want me to continue tracking the vehicle, sir?” the UAV operator asked. He sounded exhausted, as if he had been the one trying to escape the reekers.

“No. Return the camera to the objective area and continue to gather as much imagery of the roadways on the route I gave you earlier. I want to know if there are any obstructions or wrecks along the route. I’ll need that information for the ground movement plan of the operation,” Hastings said.

“Yes, sir. We’ll let you know if we find anything like that.”

*

Ballantine and Hastings
walked back to the barracks. There was something reassuring about being around your own people, and Ballantine found that hanging with his family made him feel a bit better. Hell, he even looked forward to checking in on the remaining troops from TF Manhattan—the guys were like extended family, even the loudmouth Stilley. As they stepped into the barracks building, Guerra turned and make a beeline for them.

Ballantine frowned. Guerra looked a little amped up, and Ballantine wondered what it was that got his rockets fired up. Sometimes, extended family could be a pain in the ass. “Hey, Hector, how are things panning out? Any issues?”

“Everything is going good,” Guerra said. “Hey, sir,” he called as Hastings walked past.

“Hey, Guerra.” Hastings gave him an abbreviated wave and kept on going.

“The men have knocked out the vehicles and ammo,” Guerra said, turning back to Ballantine. “Everything is cleaned, loaded up, and the vehicles are topped off. We also managed to consolidate a lot of shipping containers and ISU-90s right here on the base. They had a detail start arranging them around the critical buildings already.”

“Really? Well, good job, Hector.”

Guerra nodded. “They also consolidated people into barracks and living areas that are easier to defend, so we were able to use fewer containers than we thought we’d need. A lot of the facilities already have eight-foot fences around them, so they decided to leave them as they are since no one should be in those areas for very long. We figured fewer people to attract any attention, fewer reekers showing up, right? And the fences keep the area secure anyway, so we shouldn’t have to re-clear areas or have any surprises.”

“How many more containers will we need to finish everything?” Ballantine asked.

“The S3 is working the numbers and prioritizing which remaining sites will get whatever containers we bring back here. The airfield is still the priority, of course, and we’ll need more containers to finish it. It’s a big area to cover, compared to the other sites. But that’s not the half of it.”

Guerra was getting more animated as he spoke, clearly excited to talk about what was on his mind. “Dude, you know the detail to go secure the train off-load site just north of here at the shit-water plant? Well, I went up there to check out how it was going and see if we could help out with anything that needed to be done. The National Guard guys had staged a couple of forklifts and moving equipment up there, along with some empty trailers to off-load the train. They ran into a problem, though. There was a decent tree line between the field and the tracks that had to come down to get right up on the tracks to unload the cars. We were trying to figure out where we could get some chain saws or axes when one of the local Guard guys says he knows where a sawmill is, and that we can get some equipment there. So I’m thinking axes and chain saws, but we pull out with one of the lowboys and a semi and head down the road. We end up on—get this shit—Moonshine Road, out by the ASP, at this sawmill set back off the road. We pull in, and the old boy was right—it was a legit sawmill. So we get down and secure the area, and I ask what it is we need to get. Old boy says we’re gonna load up a couple of excavator mulchers on the lowboy and take them back to the shit water plant. So we get these things loaded up and head back and off-load them.”

“Hector, is this fucking story going somewhere? I’d like to talk to my family sometime today.”

Guerra bobbed his head, practically bouncing on his toes. “Yeah, it is. You’re gonna love this shit, I promise. So I’m like you at this point, and I’m thinking, ‘What the fuck are we gonna do with these things?’ I swear to God, I’ve never seen any shit like this before. So they roll one of these things up to the tree line and extend the arm, and this
thing
at the end of the arm starts spinning. The trees are like twenty feet high and are old and thick, and the guy lowers this thing on the top of the tree, and it shreds it like it was nothing, in
seconds
, all the way down to the ground!”

“So you cleared the area. Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Good job. I’ll put you in for a new battle ribbon or something.” Ballantine started to walk around Guerra, but the shorter man stepped in his path.

“Yeah, yeah, we cleared the area out. No problem. That thing made short work of the trees, but it sure is loud. So while we were clearing the trees, a group of reekers from the town came out of the woods on the other side of the tracks. It looked like a company assault. Fuckers were everywhere, and they were all headed towards the noise.”

Ballantine sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Well, you didn’t get eaten. Did you run and hide, or do the reekers know you’ll taste like shit?”

“Listen, it gets better. So we start shooting, right? Well, the excavator operator sees them and swings the arm around back and forth about five feet off the ground, and this cutter thing literally
disintegrates
the reekers. We stopped shooting and just watched, since all the reekers were headed to the excavator sound anyways. I watched that arm go straight down on a reeker, and the only thing left of it was a pair of shoes. Everything else was the size of wood chips. I mean, really
gross
wood chips, but you get the idea. I would tell you to Google excavator mulcher so you could see one in action, but I’m pretty sure the Internet is down now.” Guerra was smiling broadly, and he spread his hands as if expecting to be congratulated.

Ballantine just stared at him. “So what’s that have to do with anything, Hector?”

Guerra rolled his eyes. “After seeing that thing in action, I figured we could use them for the base defense. We went back and got the rest of them and brought them back here. We have one on the Fisher Road entrance right now.”

Ballantine snorted. “Let me get this straight—you brought logging equipment back to defend the base? Have you lost your fucking mind, Guerra?”

“Probably, but not when it comes to this. If I’m lying, I’m dying. You are gonna love this thing when you see it in action, I promise. I’ve got a Humvee right outside. We can go down to the gate right now. Trust me. You want to see this shit.”

“Hector, if you’re fucking with me, I’ll have your ass.”

“I swear, I’m not fucking with you,” Guerra said. “You need to check this out. Hell, bring the captain. He’d probably be all over it.”

“All right, all right. Let me go speak to my family, and then I’ll go look at this thing. Give me ten mikes.”

*

Hastings was happy
to see everyone settled in and apparently content for the moment. Kay and the boys were playing some kind of board game they’d scrounged up, and the men were going over their gear or wiping down weapons. Diana was flipping through an old
People
magazine. Kenny, sitting next to her, was staring off into space, but he looked happy.

Hastings walked over to Diana. “You two look to be getting along fine. How’s the little man been?”

Diana looked and gave him that “fuck off and die” smile that all women seemed to have absolute mastery of from birth. Hastings didn’t care. He was used to that from her. It was the only thing about her that he had figured out—she had a toxic personality, and the only reason he hadn’t kicked her to the curb yet was because of Kenny.