Transformation: Zombie Crusade VI (38 page)

There was no time to wait for the entire company to climb the slope; Zach’s warriors would be dead in minutes. Jack stood up and forced his quaking legs to move forward. Half of his troops were ready to follow, visors slapped down and favored weapons held at the ready. The squad blessed with pump-action shotguns was trotting along with Jack. He waved them forward as they approached the battlefield. The gunners stopped fifty meters from the melee surrounding the beleaguered survivors and fired a round of buckshot into the packed hunters. At least a dozen flesh-eaters went down under the storm of lead, while at least as many more of the beasts peeled away from the action with gaping wounds. The gunners then began to run, concerned about the possibility of striking the remaining humans if they shot again.

Jack watched three more soldiers fall to the furious hunters just before he and the men running beside him struck the monsters in their unsuspecting backs. The halberd felt better in his hands than he’d ever imagined it could.
God help me,
he thought as he chopped a third skull in half in as many swings,
but I love this.
Months of stress and pain came pouring from his hands as he stabbed and slashed with his favorite weapon, gore and blood covering his visor as he waded more deeply into the mass of flesh-eaters now frantically trying to escape the wrathful humans on their flanks. Unfortunately for the beasts, dozens of veteran hunter-killers were itching for a fight. The creatures fell writhing to the rocky ground, trying to flee with no escape route open. The peak was clear of all but the dead in a matter of minutes.

Jack ordered the nine survivors of the valiant two squads that had fought so bravely to rest and rehydrate behind the new line, then began assigning positions to his soldiers. Hunters were still reaching the top of the slope by the score, but the fresh troops speared and hacked and shot them down in droves. A two-hundred-meter line was established from directly above the fire trench to a deep ravine leading away from the battlefield; thousands of hunters were now streaming into the mountains as Gracie had originally hoped.

With the immediate threat to the right flank eliminated, the troops blocking the highway were free to continue mowing down the ranks of the howling flesh-eaters as they pressed forward. Whatever questions anyone in the battalion might have had about the value of the cannon were quickly forgotten as the storm of death continued to blast the hunters. Across the entire front, the oncoming creatures now had to traverse large mounds of corpses in order to reach the human defenders. Wyatt’s troopers, with their muzzle-loading rifles, were proving to be especially adept at shooting down the monsters as they silhouetted themselves atop the piles of their own dead. The soldiers posted behind the laager were having an easy time of it, few crossbows or shotguns had been employed as the fighters realized that spears could handle the trickle of hunters managing to reach them through the hail of lead.

From her position atop the command vehicle, Gracie could see that the numbers of flesh-eaters seemed to be dropping; past battles with massive hordes had taught her to expect ever-increasing pressure. She told Courtney to raise Jack on the handheld to ask him what he could see from his position.

Twenty seconds later, his voice was in her ear. “The hunters that have hit us so far have just been a very small part of the horde, a hundred times more, at least, are coming up soon.”

“Why are they waiting?” Gracie asked anxiously.

“Some sort of accordion effect was going on along the highway, which is pretty normal during a march.”

“Okay, so what are they doing now?”

“You see how those Blackhawks are circling about a mile away?”

“I see them,” Gracie curtly replied. “What are they doing?”

“They’ve managed to halt most of the hunters; now they’re making them spread out and bunch together.”

“Jack, weren’t they doing that already? They hit us damn hard.”

“I know they did,” he sympathized, “but that was just a disorganized mess forced in this direction. The next assault will be a lot worse.”

“What do you see?”

Jack hesitated before answering. “They extend to the horizon; there must be millions of them.”

Gracie was quiet for a moment before responding. “I’m glad you made it here to help us kill ‘em all.”

Luke was doubling back to rejoin the Black Battalion when he heard a lone helicopter approaching, and he flattened himself to the ground to avoid possible detection. An unusually large Marine bird passed directly over his head with no sign that it had noticed anything to be concerned about. The aircraft had a familiar mark on the bottom, and he needed a few seconds to recognize what he was seeing: the official seal of the president of the United States.

Luke was instantly on his feet.
There’s no way that chopper is flying anywhere near Barnes unless that bastard is on board,
he thought with growing excitement. Running back to where he could look out toward the mountaintops, he expected to see the presidential helicopter disappearing to the west. The bird wasn’t heading west; it had turned to the south, following the contours of a valley that would eventually lead back to I-15. Then, to Luke’s surprise, the helicopter appeared to be landing on a ridge just a few short miles away. Luke smiled and signaled to Will in the distance—it was time to pay a visit to General Barnes.

CHAPTER 32

The sun was past its zenith, but not far past it, as the massive assault Jack had seen being prepared to the west finally struck the battalion. Zach stood in the turret of his Hummer, his spear unbloodied but ready for action. He watched the horde march over a rise about a half mile away, but lost sight of the forward ranks as they dipped below the corpse-mounds stretching across the entire front. As he expected, hunters atop the heaped dead signaled the arrival of the monsters a few minutes after he’d lost sight of them. He steeled himself against the expected roar of the big guns, but before the artillerymen had enough targets to open up on, Zach learned something new about fear.

One of the soldiers in the trailer to his left exclaimed, “Oh my God!”

Zach could only stand in stunned silence while he watched the flesh-eaters atop the mounds tumble into the gore beneath them as the corpses began rolling forward. The stacked dead slowly advanced like an ocean’s wave approaching shore. The mounds grew higher until gravity pulled the bodies back toward the earth, which was now trembling with the weight of thousands of corpses slamming to the ground. Live hunters continued to momentarily appear on top of the wave, only to immediately find themselves sucked into the vortex of rolling gore. The macabre swell was a hundred meters from the defensive works when it finally began to break apart under the strain; the corpses were literally disintegrating from the forces being exerted upon them. Finally, the first of hundreds of thousands of hunters massed for this assault pushed their way through the dead, wading through a sea of body parts and fluids as if they were emerging from the surf like the Marines of World War II.

Zach didn’t enjoy the analogy that had come, unbidden, to his frightened mind. These “marines” carried no weapons beyond their teeth and hands, but no assault force in history was ever so deadly to human beings. He wanted to run; he wanted to drop his weapons, shed his armor, and run screaming from this place.
Maybe,
he thought,
if nobody was counting on me I might run.
But nearly a hundred young soldiers were counting on him, and he knew that he would die here, a thousand times, before he would abandon his troops. He turned his head from side to side as he shouted, “I’ve seen worse, and won! Stand your ground and kill the bastards!”

Zach was able to share his message twice before his voice was swallowed by the shattering roar of the cannon opening up on the hunters. At this new range, the guns blew narrow openings in the approaching ranks of monsters; the living and the dead were thrown into the air by the hundreds, landing in pieces on the creatures behind. This time, those ghastly openings were filled with ever-increasing numbers of hunters before the gunners could reload. Another volley hit the horde at fifty meters, and again at twenty, sweeping away thousands of creatures, their flesh and blood raining down upon the rear ranks who continued to push ahead into any available openings. Finally, barrels were pulled inside the laager and heavy mesh screens quickly fixed into their places. The artillerymen picked up spears and joined their brothers in the infantry.

When the horde was ten meters from the line it endured another culling as the shotguns unleashed their deadly loads into the faces of the snarling hunters. The buckshot was followed by hundreds of crossbow bolts. Thousands of the beasts fell to the ground, creating enough of a barrier to cause many of the following ranks to lose momentum as they stumbled into spear range.

Gracie anxiously watched as this stage of the battle opened up like the first attack, with the big guns slaughtering thousands of hunters. But this time there was simply no stopping the pressing mass of flesh-eaters with artillery alone. She watched as the infantry began reaping a bloody harvest with their close-combat weapons, again noting that the pressure along the entire front never ceased for more than the few seconds required for the following ranks to climb over the dead and dying. In several places, a few of the strongest, most determined hunters vaulted the laager and continued on toward the rear of the human position. There were snipers in place for just such problems, and they relentlessly blew brains to the wind with almost every shot they took—the range was ridiculously close for such expert marksmen.

Within minutes, the first creatures passed through the gauntlet of shooters and even past the command-truck. Two squadrons of cavalry had remained in the rear, with their horses, to put down these flesh-eaters. The troopers were using lances instead of their muzzle-loaders, looking for all the world like an old picture Gracie remembered from a history textbook; she finally recalled that the cavalry in the drawing had been charging the Russian guns in
The Charge of the Light Brigade
. Considering the awesome killing power of her own artillery, she quickly gained a new appreciation of 19
th
Century courage.

Gracie picked up her handheld radio. “Sergeant Jenkins?”

“Right here ma’am,” he called back.

“Looks like we’re being overrun. Time to head out, my friend; enjoy the ride.”

“Copy that, and we will enjoy the ride. Jenkins out.”

Luke didn’t have any trouble locating where the presidential helicopter had landed—there was a small but active forward command base on the top of a plateau, maybe six miles from the main battleground. He sat motionless and watched the scene for twenty minutes, counting the soldiers and memorizing every detail of the layout. There was an additional helicopter on the ground, as well as two Jeeps and several tents. He easily identified Barnes from the smug way he seemed to be inspecting every aspect of the sparse base, and the nauseatingly deferential behavior of the troops around him.

Luke counted seventeen men, not including Barnes. When one soldier began setting up a table near the edge of the ridge, apparently so Barnes could enjoy a chilly but scenic lunch, Luke recognized his opportunity. While Will and his subordinates noiselessly positioned themselves around the perimeter behind the helicopters, alert for any opportunity to quickly snatch and silence an enemy or two, Luke circled around to the dirt road that was probably constructed to serve conservation officers or, if necessary, firefighters. He put on his sunglasses and raised his hands high in the air while loudly announcing, “Don’t shoot—I’m unarmed and here to discuss terms of surrender!”

Six of the fourteen soldiers still breathing fixed their weapons on Luke, shouting for him to stop and calling out for backup. Luke halted, keeping his hands up, while Barnes got up from the table, looking extremely annoyed that his meal was being interrupted.

“President Barnes,” just speaking the title left a bitter taste in Luke’s mouth, “I’m unarmed, and I’ve come to speak with you about possible terms of surrender.”

Barnes sighed. “I probably should just have you shot and be done with it; I can’t see where you could have anything to offer. Utah is mine, and I can take anything I want.” He looked Luke up and down. “I’ll give you five minutes, but only because I’m a generous man. Come sit with me.” He turned to the guards closest to him as he motioned for Luke to approach the table. “You two keep your guns trained on this rebel. Don’t hesitate to shoot if he so much as sneezes.”

Luke took a seat across from Barnes; the table was set for two. “It almost looks like you were expecting me,” Luke said coolly. “Too bad I’ve already had lunch.”

“Watch yourself, boy. I don’t tolerate insolence, and you are in no position to try my patience. I doubt you’ll be able to entice me to accept your surrender.”

“I’m afraid you misunderstand, I’m not here to surrender to you—I’m here to let you know our terms for your surrender.”

Barnes laughed. “There’s something about you that I find thoroughly entertaining. Who are you, and who do you represent?” A series of muffled thuds caused Barnes to stiffen and his guards to look around nervously.

Luke took off his sunglasses and fixed Barnes with a menacing stare. “My name is Major Luke Seifert, of the Allied Resistance. Luke Seifert-
Smith.
I believe you know my father.”

Barnes reflexively leaned back, away from Luke. “Shoot him!” he ordered, but the guards were too focused on the huge hunters emerging from all directions, inexplicably carrying axes, pikes, and baseball bats. Barnes reached for his own pistol, but Luke was quicker. He snatched the gun from Barnes and tossed it over the ravine. The guards had emerged from shock long enough to fire a few wild shots at the armed beasts, but they didn’t manage to inflict any permanent damage before their limbs were torn from their torsos.

Luke roughly slammed Barnes back down in his chair. “Now let’s continue our negotiation. Though I doubt you’ll be able to entice me, or my friend Will here, to accept your surrender.” Will stepped forward and snarled, causing the so-called president to wet himself. Luke was about to offer a more formal introduction when he thought he heard a woman’s voice calling for help. He cocked his head to listen.

“Jesus, Luke, just kill him!” Andi screamed from the doorway of presidential helicopter. “And watch out for the hunters—”

Someone fired up the engine, and the rotors began to spin. Luke thought he recognized the voice calling out in warning. “The hunters are with me, don’t worry—just get out of there,” Luke shouted as he turned slightly in his chair to see who was in the chopper. He was shocked to see Andi alive and well.

The armored bulldozers had been hauled across half a continent for just this moment, and they didn’t disappoint in their first battle-action. The buttoned-up vehicles, currently surrounded by packed hunters who’d had no idea there were humans so close by, moved down the slope side-by-side. The ‘dozers were simply unavoidable for most of the flesh-eaters in their path. A few of the creatures managed to crawl atop other nearby hunters to gain enough distance to avoid the unstoppable crushing-machines rolling through the horde, but most were rolled over with brutal efficiency. As the bulldozers passed through the attacking monsters, they left a trail of mangled gore thirty feet wide. The space was quickly crossed by the following ranks of hunters, but as the D9’s completed their first pass through the attackers and turned around for more, the gaps began to create an accordion-type approach that at least allowed the defenders along the line a few seconds every minute or so to reload weapons and gulp down one of the water bottles they all carried into battle. 

“Damn!” Gracie exclaimed as she watched the bulldozers complete their first pass across the front. Even Jack took a minute to radio his observations.

“Where in the hell did you get those D9’s?” he shouted into Gracie’s ear.

“Zombie smashing store in Dallas; how’s it going up there?”

“We’re rotating at fifty-twenty now, so the pressure’s increasing. I don’t think the D9’s will help us out.”

“No,” Gracie agreed, “if anything, more hunters are headed your way.”

She could hear shouts of alarm as Jack quickly confirmed her worry. “Sounds like they may be here; I better get back on the line.”

As the radio went silent, Gracie looked toward the slope and saw that it was swarming with flesh-eaters scrambling upward over the corpses littering the rocky ground. She tried to count as Luke had taught her to do, but there was simply no way to gain separation—the mass of hunters was too dense and widespread. Regardless of how many creatures were attacking Jack’s position, she knew that Jack would hold; he had to hold.

As she watched from the command vehicle, Gracie could only follow the bulldozers by the path of crushed corpses left in their wake; the machines themselves were covered with dozens of hunters frantically trying to rip off the doors so they could reach the humans inside. The creatures were doomed to failure. The D9’s had been modified to withstand heavy weapons fire, they weren’t going to be breached by hands and teeth. The bulldozers were simply unstoppable, but so was the horde pressing forward in spite of the horrendous casualties they were suffering as the tracked vehicles cut across their advance. The carnage Jenkins and his partner were wreaking on the hunters was helping to ease the pressure on the thin human line blocking the interstate, but the beasts were still pressing mindlessly forward by the tens of thousands. Gracie could hear the big guns firing, but their pace had noticeably slackened over the past half-hour or so. The battle had devolved into a savage clash of ground troops, a fight where commanders no longer mattered. The training and courage of the warriors, and the cold-steel they wielded, would now decide the outcome of the conflict. 

Maddy had watched with alarm as the trickle of hunters somehow surviving the canister began to increase as the horde finally became organized beneath the circling Blackhawks. The troops had been ordered to use only spears and pikes on the manageable numbers of flesh-eaters reaching the laager, up to this point, but a fresh wave now appeared from the other side of the main mound of corpses to the front. Most of the cannon had just fired another round and wouldn’t have time to reload before the next charge reached their positions. Maddy shouted the order, “shotguns!” to her left and right, hearing other commanders along the line calling out the same order. The highly disciplined soldiers set their pole-arms aside and gathered up their shotguns, nervously awaiting the order to fire as the roaring hunters rapidly crossed the corpse-strewn no-man’s land in front of the laager. The fastest of the infected were already climbing the cages and fencing when the order came to fire. Three hundred shotguns, all loaded with double-ought buckshot, fired in unison at point blank range. An audible moan could be heard from the horde as yet another assault-wave was perforated with lead balls before falling dead to the blood-soaked earth.