Z-Minus (Book 4) (13 page)

“I’m telling you, we’ve got to push out of here,” Roach said. “We’re doing next to nothing for these people. The virus is going to come up and bite us in the ass, you just watch.”

“Make sure to wear your kit and you’ll be fine,” Mark said.

Roach shook his head.

“It’s a nasty way to die,” he said. “Just the thought of Ebola brings me out in hives.”

He reached back, his hand making cupping motions, but nothing was placed in it. It was a rare enough occurrence for Roach to turn around.

“Where’s that boy with the water?” he said.

“Kid?” Mark said.

“That’s the one,” Roach said. “You know, we really should give him another name. It’s too easy to get him mixed up with all the other kids. Kids. See?”

Mark frowned. It was unusual for Kid to be away from the camp for long. He was always on hand when a soldier had a parched throat, a stab of hunger that could be solved with a pack of peanuts or chips. It was uncanny. But Mark hadn’t seen him for a while.

“When was the last time you saw Kid?” Mark said.

Roach shrugged. He barely remembered where he’d been, never mind anyone else.

Mark felt a pit form in his stomach. It was a feeling he’d learned to trust over the years. He crossed the street.

“I’m not going to let up about bugging out of here,” Roach called after the departing Mark. “We have to leave!”

But Mark was already consumed with his new mission. He approached a gang of kids. A couple scattered when he got close, but the older kids didn’t move. They’d seen him around the camp and tended to notice the soldiers who treated them with respect and those who didn’t.

“Lads,” Mark said. “I’m looking for Kid. A boy, about this tall. He normally sells us water and beads.”

The boys just looked at him. He knew they understood what he was saying, but they were dirt poor. No one helped anyone else unless there was something in it for them.

Mark reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of change.

“Money to whoever answers my questions,” he said.

“Give to me! Give to me!” the boys said. “I know! I know!”

“Where is Kid?” Mark said.

“The well!” some of the kids said.

“In the market!” some of the others said.

Those less sure of their answer changed their minds about what they were saying, and opted for what the others were saying.

“The well!” the majority said.

Truth by consensus.

“Which well?” Mark said.

They shouted and most pointed in one direction. One boy said: “I show! Come! I show!”

Mark tossed the coins on the street, grabbed the boy by the collar, and dragged him away. The boy looked at the tossed coins like they were a feast.

“Show me,” Mark said. “I’ll give you ten dollars.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide. He probably hadn’t ever earnt ten dollars in a week before. Mark could see the boy wanted to ask to see the money upfront, but he also didn’t want to chase the job away.

“This way,” he said.

He led Mark through the streets, running past old men playing games of checkers with rocks and bottle caps. He vaulted around rusted cars and hopped over large potholes. Mark struggled to keep up, so the boy slowed down every few hundred yards, waving at Mark to follow him.

They ran through a basketball game played by a large gang of local boys and more than a few feisty girls, and then through a hole in a wall. The boy skidded to a stop.

“There,” the boy said, barely out of breath, pointing with a shaky finger.

Mark handed the boy a random banknote from his pocket. He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t care. The boy didn’t seem to either. He snatched the note, tucked it in his pocket, and rushed away without a second glance over his shoulder.

The square was strewn with debris from a building that leaned over at a dangerous angle. It looked inhabited. Mark shielded his eyes against the sunlight that shimmered off the wet concrete. A hand-pump well sat in the middle of the square and looked to be the cause of the leakage.

Lumps of debris lay across the ground like little forts. Mark stepped over them as he headed toward the well. He peered around. An old woman beat at a dusty carpet. She paused, looking at Mark. She stopped and headed back inside, keeping a wary eye on him as she shut her door. There was no sign of Kid.

Mark felt robbed of ten dollars. Had the boy led him here not really knowing where Kid was? No. Mark doubted the boy would risk loss of earnings from the soldiers.

And then he noticed something.

Gripping the handle of the well, gripped tight like it didn’t want to let go. And it hadn’t. Even in death.

Mark turned his head to the side and threw up. He opened his eyes to see he’d been sick in someone’s outstretched hand, a hand curled with blood, twisted with death. The body attached to it was equally twisted, the woman’s eyes open and staring up at the sky.

The lumps weren’t lumps at all. They were bodies.

Beside the well, a small figure, waterlogged and swollen, lay with his empty bottles beside his head, trying to refill them, to earn a quick buck. Some of the bodies wore trinkets around their wrists. Others didn’t. The accessories had been stripped and sold. Why not? The dead no longer needed them.

Mark mourned for the poor boy. It was too much to take in at once. His heart swelled with the pain of a hundred lives, a thousand, starving to death, inflicted with unnecessary pain and suffering. Tears spilled down his cheeks. He hugged himself tight.

He had to get away from there, away from this country, this continent. Far away.

Mark ran back to the army even faster than he’d run to get there.

“We’re leaving,” Mark said to Roach.

Roach could see something had happened, but he didn’t question him.

Mark and his team packed their things and went to the airport. Mark didn’t stop moving until he met Tabitha half a world away, burying both himself and his tears into her. Everything they’d done, everything they’d achieved, meant nothing. The virus had still gotten out, had still killed someone they cared about.

If they couldn’t even protect someone they cared about, what use were they?

They smothered the flames with sheets of fire resistant plastic and then searched amongst the wreckages of both the helicopter and facility, collecting all the weapons they could find. Most of it was damaged beyond use. They went through the equipment, checking and cleaning as best they could. They eventually came away with two working guns each – two rifles, or a rifle and a pistol. There was a good amount of ammo, which they split amongst themselves and tucked into their pockets. They felt a whole lot better about their situation now they held real working guns with live ammo.

Peering across the wide flat lawn, they could make out the rise at the opposite end, where just an hour ago they themselves had emerged. There was as yet no sign of the undead horde.

“You don’t think they got distracted, do you?” Eddie said. “And peeled off in another direction?”

“They are coming,” he said. “No matter how much we wish they weren’t.”

Eddie nodded. He needed to hear those words.

“I found more grenades,” John said.

He had a boxful, most of them dented and damaged.

“I wouldn’t trust them,” he said. “They might go off any moment.”

“What would you suggest instead?” Mark said.

“Snares,” John said.

After a moment of discussing the plan, John and Eddie ran out onto the flat lawn armed with wire and hand grenades. They set snares and carefully attached the explosive devices. It was a tense twenty minutes as they ran from one length of the field to the other, working their way back to base.

“I’ll get into position,” Daoud said.

He climbed over the rubble on his hands and feet, keeping his injured leg straight.

“Jacob,” Mark said. “I have a special assignment for you.”

“What?” Jacob said.

“If things don’t go well, someone needs to get out of here with the virus and warn the rest of the world,” Mark said. “One of us has to get out of here alive.”

He took the paintball of infected blood out of his pocket and handed it over.

“It has to be you,” he said.

“No,” Jacob said. “I’ll fight here, with you and the others.”

“If the defenses fail and there’s no way to hold them back, you’ll do little good on your own,” Mark said. “You’ll do a lot more good if you get to Charlotte and warn them the undead are coming.”

“Why don’t you go?” Jacob said. “You’re the one with the baby coming.”

Mark glanced at Daoud. He was within earshot, so he lowered his voice.

“Because the rest of us are infected,” Mark said.

Jacob stood, stunned.

“No,” he said. “None of you were bitten.”

“It happened in the jeep,” Mark said. “The blood sprayed over the windows and onto us.”

“You can’t be infected,” Jacob said.

“Look at Daoud,” Mark said. “Do you think he’d be able to make that climb if he felt the pain in this leg? No. The virus has disabled his ability to feel pain. He’s becoming like the undead. We all are.”

Jacob ran his hand through his hair and let out a breath.

“Do the others know?” he said.

“No,” Mark said. “And I want to keep it that way.”

“Don’t you think they should know?” Jacob said.

“Would you?” Mark said.

Jacob’s instinctive reaction was a resounding no. Why know something about which you could do nothing about? Jacob looked at the paintball of blood in Mark’s hand. He shook his head, and then took it.

“Fine,” he said. “But only if I have to.”

“Promise me you’ll run when I tell you to,” Mark said.

“Promise me you’ll do everything you can so I won’t have to,” Jacob said.

“I will,” Mark said.

Jacob nodded.

“I’ll run,” he said.

The word left a sour taste in his mouth. He was a Special Forces soldier. It wasn’t in his nature to turn and run.

Mark must have sensed his trepidation because next he said, “If you don’t run when I tell you, when you need to, you’ll be letting all of us down. Do you understand? All of us, including the people in the city. All those you love, all those you ever met, passing in the street.”

The magnitude of his assignment dawned on Jacob then. In his pocket he carried what might be the world’s only chance of developing a cure before it had a chance to spread.

John and Eddie beat a hasty retreat back across the field to the facility. None of the grenades had gone off yet. They were panting.

“Now what?” Jacob said.

“Now we get into position,” Mark said. “Before, we thought we were fighting terrorism, but we weren’t. We were just fighting fanatics. This is real terror, and if it gets out of this valley it’ll wreak havoc on the rest of the country, the rest of the world. We can’t let that happen.”

A whistle, high and shrill. They turned to see Daoud pointing at the horizon.

They began as shadows, rising like a bubbling brew before spilling down the hillside. A resonant low groan rose like a siren’s wail, growing in volume and intensity. The first wave came into view, snarling and angry, desperate. They stretched as far as the eye could see, a writhing mass of torn flesh.

“For once, I’m not asking you to do this for your country,” Mark said. “Because we’re not doing this for honor. We’re doing this for us. This is for you, for your family and friends and loved ones. I won’t command you to do this. If you want to leave now, you can. This is your last chance.”

They all looked back at the huge army descending down the incline on the other side of the flat field, heading toward them, spreading like the virus they carried. The men held their ground, and it was all the confirmation Mark needed.

“Get into your positions,” Mark said. “Looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

They were in position, hidden amongst the ruins. Mark’s eyes roved across the battlefield to the location of each member of his team.

John and Eddie were the head of the spear, on the ground and with most maneuverability. They would be facing the zombies head-on, aiming for broad shots at head height.

Daoud was up on what remained of the roof of the facility. With his gimp leg he was stuck up there and wouldn’t be able to relocate with ease.

Mark and Jacob were behind John and Eddie, prepared to relieve them when the time came.

Four brave men, Mark thought. They would decide Charlotte’s fate. They had already dedicated their lives to defending their country. Now they were defending a city that had never meant much to them besides debt and poverty. Once again they were sounding the silent trumpet of sacrifice, to lay down their lives and prolong others’. The worst of it was no one would ever know of their sacrifice.

So, what’s new?
Mark thought. Just another day in the life of a soldier.

Each soldier watched with bated breath as the zombies crossed the flat plain field, a relentless wave. Some tripped on something and stumbled. There was a sharp intake of breath, but no grenade exploded. The tension didn’t let up as the zombies ambled across the field, their limp gait like they had gone ten rounds with Tyson, faces bloody and swollen.

More undead crossed into the grenade ground. The front line were halfway to the building now, and the men’s hopes of an effective minefield rescinded. Perhaps the grenades were faulty.

Boom!

To their left. A large explosion as a zombie tripped on a wire. A zombie’s body hit another mine and flew up into the air. Chunks rained down over the field, striking the other zombies, who growled and hissed. They dropped to their hands and knees and tore at the lumps of meat. The zombie army turned and staggered in the direction of the feeding frenzy.

How could things so stupid be so dangerous? Mark wondered. But perhaps their stupidity was what made them so dangerous. They could hound and follow and never give up, even when they should have, because above all they needed to feed.

Boom!

Another explosion. This one from the back of the field, tearing up a gang of the frightful creatures, knocking down another dozen standing nearby. The frontline of the undead, momentarily distracted by the explosion, turned, but continued on as if drawn by a puppet string. They were drawing close to John and Eddie’s position.

Mark didn’t know how John and Eddie could hold back, could stop themselves from taking action and blowing the infernal monsters away. But he did know. Orders. His orders. They wouldn’t move a muscle, probably not even if an opportunity did present itself, until the moment had come for them to leap out from behind their giant rock and blast away at the undead.

Bored by what they had found near the explosion site, and having prodded and probed at the crater left by the grenades, the undead turned and resumed their slow, ceaseless march forward, toward the trap that had been set for them. Willing victims to a death they could not avoid.

And then they were in range.

John and Eddie stepped out from behind their rocks, free from protection, facing an army of torn faces and rotting teeth. They didn’t step back or show fear. They calmly raised their guns to head height, took aim, and pulled their triggers.

Eddie’s rifle quivered in his hands as it unloaded into the undead horde. John’s hadn’t fired. Jammed. He smacked it with his hand. They had tested their rifles earlier, firing into the blood-sodden earth behind the facility. It had seemed pointless trying to reduce the noise, considering the zombies were already heading to their position. John tossed his gun aside and picked up another. He took aim. This one fired, unloading into the advancing horde. Together, he and Eddie were a furious death squad, the piles of undead bodies rising higher.

Daoud was unloading into the undead too, one shot at a time, utilizing his exceptional accuracy to take out each zombie that came a little too close to John and Eddie, so they could continue their blunt force assault.

John and Eddie’s assault rifles clicked with empty clips. Eddie switched to another assault rifle, John to semi-automatic mode due to his first malfunctioning rifle. They edged back, behind Mark and Jacob’s position.

Once John and Eddie were safely out of the way, Mark and Jacob took over, firing at the undead as they marched forward. The undead put up little resistance. It was like firing at fish in a barrel. The figures slipped and fell down, sliding on one another’s entrails and innards. Mark and Jacob held the rifles that vibrated in their hands steady, strafing left to right, the undeads’ heads exploding like water balloons. But still they edged forward, inch by inch, hard won and expensively paid for.

A zombie on the ground crawled between the bodies of two others and sailed down the blood-slickened slope, arm raised, within inches of grasping Mark. Its head exploded from its shoulders and flew a dozen yards as a bullet from Daoud’s rifle slammed into it, blowing the contents of its skull over the ground.

Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack!

Empty.
Already?

Mark tossed the rifle onto his back, letting it hang by its strap. He picked up the second rifle at his waist. He took aim and again unloaded into the undead horde.

He took furtive steps, feeling with his foot so as not to back into a wall or trip over something. This went on for what felt like a very long time, until Mark was worried they would run out of ammo before John and Eddie resumed firing. But then they stepped forward, eyes fixed on their enemy.

Mark’s ears rung, hearing dulled by the loud weapons. In his memory he saw the mawing mouths of the undead, the desperate, hungry expressions. A realization settled over him then, and he was certain it was occurring to the others too: the undead were never going to stop. No matter how many they killed, no matter how long they fought, they would keep coming. They would never get demoralized, never tire, never surrender. It was like facing a more savage version of themselves. But so long as Mark had breath in his body and bullets in his gun, he would never quit either. It was a battle of wills.
And ammunition.

No fancy tactics, just a full-on frontal assault. The zombies were not sophisticated creatures. The result of a sophisticated plan could only end in failure. The nature of warfare had changed. They were no longer against an enemy as intelligent as they, where you would need to make alternative plans. You just needed to keep going.

No matter what.

Jacob was panting, sweating beside him. Mark could tell from the wrinkles in his brow that he too was thinking along the same lines. There was no stopping these monsters. Like there was no stopping Muslim extremists from blowing themselves up. Change could only come from within. But zombies had no ability to change. There was no way for them to become something else. There was no way to fill an empty shell.

Clack, clack, clack, clack!

John and Eddie’s guns were depleted. Mark was still out of breath from his first shift, but at least he had managed to reload his rifles. He put his head through a strap, held the rifle to his face, let out a breath, and rounded the rock.

Mark felt the heat coming off John’s body as he passed him. Mark’s arms were already shaking when he opened fire. He barely took his finger off the trigger as the bullets found their mark and slammed home.

He turned on the spot, finding his targets grinning at him. He blew their faces off. He let out all the hate and aggression he felt for their having killed his father, felt a rush of relief that he was able to fulfill vengeance. The rounds from his rifle slowed, dribbling to a stop as the undead ceased pushing forward.

Mark let off a few single shots as the undead dribbled to a stop, only a few crawling toward them. But the horde was gone.

There was a mound of bodies five feet high, an amalgamation of arms and legs and blood acting like cement holding them all together. No sounds were carried by the wind, no unholy groans from stricken throats, no grunts in the distance.

“We did it?” Jacob said. Then, more excited: “We did it!”

“Sh,” John said.

Not so much to be quiet, but to not jinx the moment.

“I wouldn’t get so excited if I were you,” Daoud called from the ruin’s roof.

“Are there more?” Eddie said. “How many?”

Mark scaled up the mound of bodies, elbow and knee crooks ideal footholds. He got to the top and the fragile hope he’d been fostering in his chest withered.

“Enough for another ten more rounds yet,” Daoud said.