These Dead Lands: Immolation (52 page)

Victor stared at the display. Another unmanned Shadow aerial vehicle entered the frame, flying past the one currently transmitting real-time imagery. Farther back, amidst the snarled traffic, thousands more reekers were winding their way past abandoned cars and trucks.
We’re never going to win this
.

“Colonel Victor?”

Victor cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from the screen. Jarmusch was looking at him with a quizzical expression. Victor could see the desperation lurking in the taller man’s eyes. Victor knew Jarmusch was no stranger to combat; the National Guardsman had been deployed to Iraq, twice. But the zombie force was an enemy he had yet to fight, whereas Victor had gotten his fill of fighting off the deadheads. Jarmusch obviously wanted him to take the lead.

“Let’s send out a Chinook,” Victor said. “Maybe two, just in case one goes down. But let’s also have one of the Shadow teams jump out and join Vogler’s element on I-78. We’ll want some local coverage initiated from that area, so we can keep an eye on what’s going on. How long until the reekers make it to the barricade?”

“Tomorrow sometime, sir,” the female AMP said. “They’re walking at around three miles an hour, and they’ll have another traffic jam a mile ahead that will slow them down. It’s funny, but they really seem to want to stay on the roadway. Some of them are in the trees and brush, but most seem to prefer flat terrain.”

“It’s because it’s easier for them,” Victor said. “And because they know roads lead them to prey.” He nodded toward Gavas. “Colonel Gavas, pick a team to jump out on the Chinooks. This is basically a reconnaissance mission, and that’s your area of expertise. I’ll leave it to you to decide how many troops to assign. If three miles per hour is all they’re doing, then this doesn’t have to be a long-distance task. Make it out to Allentown then turn back to the airfield. There were ten or fifteen thousand reekers holding station in Allentown. These bastards could be from there.”

“Roger that, sir,” Gavas said, bobbing his head.

Victor turned to Jarmusch. “Can you spare some troops to head up to Vogler’s position to give them a hand? It looks like they’re first up for contact, so I’d like to get that barricade straightened out right away. We’ll also need to get a secondary line of containers established and secured, so if the troops need to fall back, they’ll have another defensive line to retrograde to.”

“We’ll call up another company,” Jarmusch said. “I’ll also work with the aviators on getting the air slice dialed in. Colonel Gavas, you might want to be in on that.”

“Yes, sir,” Gavas said with another bob of his head.

Hastings entered the room.

“Captain,” Victor said, “welcome back to the war. Sorry, no day off for you.”

Hastings didn’t look to be in great shape, but his eyes were sharp as he zeroed in on the video. “How many, sir?”

“Between fifty and seventy-five thousand. We’re going to jump out a Chinook to take a deeper look then follow on with a forward-deployed Shadow.”

Hastings shook his head. “There’s going to be a lot more than that, sir. A
lot
more. This is the leading edge of the wave inbound from the East Coast.”

“How do you know that, Captain?” Gavas asked. “They could be coming in from anywhere.”

“Seventy-Eight’s a straight shot from Jersey and the New York City metro area,” Hastings said. “Reekers from Philly or Harrisburg would be meeting the road to our west, and it looks like either we were wrong about the dead population in Allentown, or they’re pushing out because another wave of dead is rolling in.”

“You could be right, Captain,” Jarmusch said. “But we’ll know that soon enough.”

Hastings turned to Victor. “Sir, I’d like to go forward and join the team setting up the barricades on I-78. Have there been any requests for more material from them?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Jarmusch said. “Not from Vogler’s unit but from the secondary defenses being set up on Swattie along Route Seventy-Two. They asked for claymores and fifty-caliber anti-material weapons.”

Hastings nodded. “I’d say that’s a good start, sir. Those munitions should definitely be surged forward to all sites.”

“You want to take over the mission to set up the defense-in-depth, Hastings?” Victor asked.

“It might be a good idea, sir, since I’m the guy who came up with the initial plans,” Hastings answered.

Victor agreed. “Then have at it, Captain. Colonel Jarmusch is getting ready to send out another company of Guardsmen to assist. You can ride along with them. We’ll try to get the munitions ready so they can go along with you.”

“Thank you, sir. Colonel Jarmusch, how long until the company leaves?”

“We were just discussing it, Captain. No orders have been given, yet. Call it thirty minutes to muster the troops, brief them, and get them ready to move out.”

“Thanks, sir. Where do you anticipate they’ll leave from?”

Jarmusch looked over at Major Glennon. “Dale?”

“Uh, the motor pool at Clement and Utility,” Glennon said.

“I’ll be there, sir.” Hastings turned back to Victor. “I have some business to take care of before we jump out. Am I good to go, sir?”

“You are. Thanks for all your help, Captain.”

*

By speeding through
the reservation in one of the battered Humvees his team had brought with them all the way from New York, Hastings made it back to the barracks in record time. He parked on the gravel road and practically leaped out of the vehicle. Several civilians were seated outside, lounging around the cement stoop. They gave him concerned looks as he bolted past.

Someone had set up a television and gaming console at the front of the floor, and Ballantine’s sons were engrossed in a game of
Super Mario Brothers
. They didn’t even look up as Hastings stormed in. The rest of the adults stirred uneasily as he continued at a fast clip, heading to the rear of the building where Kay sat with Diana, who was drying Kenny’s hair with a towel.

“Captain?” Kay asked, rising to her feet, the worry clear on her face.

“Listen, guys. It’s happening,” Hastings said, breathing hard.

“What’s happening?” Diana asked. Hastings noticed her hair was wet as well. She noticed his quick examination and nodded toward Kenny. “He needed a shower, and he wouldn’t take one unless I did, too.”

Hastings nodded stupidly then waved the explanation away. “Yeah, great. There’s a very sizeable force coming down Interstate 78. It’s still a day or so away, but I want you guys to check everything and make sure you’re ready to bounce out of here in case we have to evacuate.”

“Evacuate?” Kay echoed. “Evacuate to where, exactly?”

“Somewhere the reekers aren’t attacking,” Hastings said. “You still have the MBITR Carl gave you?”

Kay pointed at the bunk next to her, where the blocky radio sat. “Right here.”

“Keep an ear out. One of us will call you on it.”

Diana continued toweling off Kenny’s head, while the young boy tried to pull away. Diana seemed more concerned with getting the boy dry than listening to Hastings’s news.

Hastings looked around, but he didn’t see Tharinger or Hartman anywhere. Or Slater, for that matter. “Where are the other guys? And Master Sergeant Slater?”

Kay pointed toward the latrine. “Showering.”

“Stay put for a minute.” Hastings headed for the latrine.

Slater was standing outside the shower area and toweling off. “What’s up, sir?” he asked, obviously reading Hastings’s body language.

“We’ve got inbounds.” Hastings turned toward the shower just in time to see Tharinger zoom past the doorway on his belly, hooting as he bodysurfed on the tiled floor. Hartman laughed from inside the shower.

“You two! Finish up and get your asses out here, ASAP!” Hastings barked.

Tharinger scrambled to his feet. “What’s going on, sir?” he asked, eyes wide.

“About seventy thousand guys named Reeker T. Zombie are on their way. You finish up, get dressed, and meet me outside.” Hastings turned back to Slater. “You too, Slater. You mind if I put you to work?”

“Not a bit, sir.” Slater reached for his uniform. “I’ll be happy to skip shaving today, anyway.”

Hastings returned to the sleeping area. Curtis and Josh were still banging away on the game console, but several of the civilians Slater had brought were clustered around Kay and Diana, who were trying to get Kenny dressed. The boy flapped his hands in front of his face and made some low whooping noises, but every now and then, he would look away from his wriggling fingers and up at the men and women standing around him. His eyes met Hastings’s, and for an instant, Hastings thought he could see a glimmer of intelligence there, buried deep. Mixed in was a hint of dread, which prompted Hastings to give the boy a smile he didn’t necessarily believe in himself.
The kid knows something’s going down
.

Kenny whooped again and fixed his attention back on his fingers.

“So, Captain, is there something going on?” asked a tall, rangy older man with long gray hair and a thick beard shot through with white. He was dressed in a T-shirt tucked into a pair of scruffy jeans. A big leather belt was wrapped around his skinny waist, and the butt of a pistol protruded through the holster on his right hip. Wire-rimmed glasses magnified his green eyes, and well-worn work boots adorned his feet. He looked like a mix between a biker and a wayward cowboy.

“You could say that,” Hastings said. “Who are you?”

“Bill Everson. Retired Master Gunnery Sergeant, US Marine Corps.” His voice was rich and deep. “I ran the machine shop at the naval facility you guys rescued us from.”

“And he did it in true Marine Corps style,” Slater said, as he entered the room. “Everything was decorated with cream-colored doilies.”

Everson smiled. “Well, I just wanted to make you feel at home, Sergeant. After all, everyone knows that SF stands for Slow and Fat.”

“Next time, just set out a bowl of pork rinds and some Bud. It’s easier.”

Kay shook her head. “I’m sorry. Are we in danger or not?” she asked, looking at Hastings.

“We are,” Hastings said. “It’s not immediate, but it’s going to be rolling in sometime tomorrow.”

“What exactly are we talking about, sir?” Everson asked.

“There’s a force of reekers heading our way, walking down Interstate 78,” Hastings said. “Preliminary headcount is fifty to seventy-five thousand. We’re about to launch a mission to do a deeper recon to evaluate the true size of the force, but either way, it’s substantial.”

The people exchanged nervous glances. Everson looked at Slater, who shrugged slightly.

“That’s a pretty big force,” Everson said. “How are we doing on munitions?”

“We have a fully stocked ASP,” Hastings said. “More than enough to do the job. Mind if I ask what you did in the Corps, Mister Everson?”

Everson nodded. “Senior ground ordnance weapons chief. Basically, I was an armorer.”

“Good skill to have. And as a former senior NCO, I’d guess you still remember your rifleman training?”

Slater jumped in and said, “They’re not as highly developed as his needlepoint skills, sir, but Everson can generally shoot anything you put in his hands. He came in right handy a couple of times during my stay at the naval facility.”

Hastings looked around at the rest of the civilians. “Who else here is prior service?”

A red-haired man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties raised his hand. “US Navy. I was a sea combat air controller, radars and stuff like that.”

A woman of similar age raised her hand as well. “I was a ship’s serviceman. I helped run the ship’s store on an aircraft carrier.”

“You guys know how to shoot? How to follow orders, work inside a tactical picture?”

“Well, yes,” the woman said. “But I haven’t really done anything like that in almost ten years. I still remember my way around an M16, though.”

“Same here,” the red-haired man added.

“I’ll make sure they’re squared away, sir,” Everson said. “Everyone here might not be trained up to military standards, but they know what we’re up against. Everyone’s had time putting rounds downrange. We weren’t exactly sitting around doing nothing until Slater here showed up.”

“Okay. Everson, you know your way around the Gap at all?”

Everson nodded. “I do. I’ve spent some time here, long enough to know that we’re here in the cheap seats, when people of our caliber should be lounging about in comfort in the distinguished visitor’s quarters by the Marquette Lake,” he added with another smile.

Hastings had no idea what the guy was talking about, but he figured it meant he knew the lay of the land. He heard footfalls behind him, and he turned to see Tharinger and Hartman emerging from the shower area, dressed in ACUs. “Okay. This is Sergeant Hartman. He’s going to run over to the arms room and procure”—Hastings turned and did a quick count of heads—“fourteen M4 rifles, with four hundred twenty rounds each and fourteen mags. He’s then going to bring them back here and hand them off to you, Mister Everson. I’m going to presume you know your way around that particular weapon?”

“I’m familiar with the entire M4 family up to the A3 model, including SOPMODs,” Everson said. “And if I’m getting a chance to add to a wish list, I’d like a few gun trucks, two SAWs with five hundred rounds, and four M203s with four HE rounds and two smokers.”