Down the Road: The Fall of Austin (21 page)

Being out here on foot in this mess was
getting too dangerous, even for heavily-armed soldiers.

“So no one here can hotwire a car?” Spc.
Noble groaned.

“You watch too many movies,” Sgt. Arnold
said, embedding a bullet in the head of a nearby Viral.

The thoroughfare transitioned to a quaint
residential section. The streetlamps were still on, but most of the
lights in houses had been switched off. Where there was light
pouring through the windows, Fireteam Arnold could detect no
movement inside. Driveways were empty of vehicles. In some
instances, leftover luggage and suitcases sat in spots beside where
a vehicle probably used to be, too much for owners to pack when
they had evacuated to wherever they felt was a safer place to
be.

The trio of AWOL soldiers heard a scream.
They darted their heads around to try to locate the source.

Just fifty yards ahead, a small gang of
ghouls had gathered on the front porch of a small home, rubbing
their hands all over the door in an attempt to get inside. There
were a couple of lights on, revealing the pristinely white bricks
and pale green trim and well-manicured lawn. More importantly, the
lights revealed a human form in the window.

The house was still occupied.

“Are we going to assist, Sergeant?” Noble
asked.

Sgt. Arnold let out a deep breath. His team
was well equipped and well armed. Ammunition for their HK416s was
still plentiful. They were on their own, but at this point they
still had the capacity—and the means—to help. It was definitely
going to be a long night.

“Are we French or something?” he said. “
Of
course
we’re going to assist.”

The team exterminated the menace within
seconds, dropping all Virals that had surrounded the house with
quick, clean headshots. Sgt. Arnold counted nine in the front and
back yards. But ghouls that had followed them all the way up
Riverside continued lumbering down the sidewalk, and he knew the
ruckus would surely draw another crowd, probably larger, that would
lay siege to the home.

In an effort to minimize the number of Virals
that could see or hear them, he tried to communicate with whoever
was inside the house from the backyard, while Noble and Knight
stood watch from behind the bushes.

“Sgt. Arnold, United States Army. Who’s in
there?”

The back door cracked open an inch.

“I’m in here,” a male voice said.

“Hello, sir. We just thought we’d help you
out, sir. I hope you’ll consider taking this opportunity to
evacuate you and any family you have to a FEMA center, for your own
safety.”

“Thank you, Sergeant, but we’re doing just
fine here.”

“I hope you will consider the suggestion,
sir. They’re not going to stop coming. And you might want to keep
the lights low. I think these...
Virals
... were drawn to
it.”

“Zombies.”

“Whatever you please, sir.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

The man did not give thanks or say goodbye.
He simply closed the door.

Sgt. Arnold was not going to stay and argue.
The safety of his own charges was more important.

He rejoined his team and they continued down
Riverside.

* * *

The fireteam reached the mouth of Riverside
spilling onto IH-35 at around 0145 hours. Exhausted, they were
ready to find a place to hide and rest. The aggression of the
scattered Virals was getting peculiar. Noble even thought she saw
one of the ghouls make a clenched fist, as if to try and punch her,
before she shot it in the head.

The team advanced toward an office building
where a car had crashed into the brick exterior. The engine was
still running and the lights were still on.

“What do we have here?” Knight asked. Seven
bodies were scattered around the car. All had been plugged with a
bullet to their heads, with one exception. A zombie had been hit by
the car and its legs were crushed between it and the brick wall. It
clawed frantically at the empty air in an effort to escape. As the
team moved closer, it snapped at them with its teeth.

“This door’s been kicked open, guys,” Noble
said, observing the wooden front doors of the office building left
wide open. She also noticed spent shells of an automatic weapon.
“And looks like Rambo beat us here.”

“Knight, get this car shut off,” Arnold said.
“We don’t need to attract more attention.”

Knight followed the order, sitting in the
front seat. He switched off the ignition, and looked at the
interior. “Hey, ya’ll. Check it out. This car actually has a deck
for an eight track.”

“What?” Noble asked.

“Yeah, talk about retro—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish the
sentence. Cloaked in the darkness of the back seat, a zombie
clambered over and pounced.

Knight screamed as the ghoul set forth on his
neck. Trapped in the front seat, Knight did not have many choices.
But despite his chances, he still needed to make one.

The creature’s teeth were inches from his
neck when Knight decided he could not escape and would have to
wrestle it. He turned in the driver’s seat and gained a grip on its
head. He didn’t dare reach for his sidearm or another weapon, or
risk losing control of the monster. He slammed the creature’s head
down on the armrest. It twisted awkwardly. Afraid to punch the
monster and expose his hands to its teeth, Knight instead jabbed
both his thumbs into its eyes. Whitish fluid oozed out.

It was an opportunity to jump from the
vehicle. Panting in fear, he turned to watch Arnold and Noble plug
the flesh-eater with several shots from their weapons. Knight shook
his head, trying to pull himself together. His hands were soaked in
eyeball fluid. Beneath the fingernails of his thumbs was white
material that reminded him of the exterior of a boiled egg. He
looked away and gagged, wanting to wipe his hands on anything but
his clothes. He did anyway, on his pants, and shook his head again
trying to shake off the nausea.

Sgt. Arnold approached him. “You all right,
soldier?” He trained his HK416 as subtly as possible, sadly
considering the possibility his charge was bitten.

“Yes, sir. I’m fine, sir,” Knight replied,
refocusing.

Sgt. Arnold looked him over. He was relieved
to find no signs of a bite.

“So much for not attracting more attention,”
Noble said.

Creatures were gathering. They were
scattered, but numerous, and they were beginning to congregate.

The team assembled at the busted door.

“Look,” Sgt. Arnold said, pointing at the
ground. Bloodstained footprints left a trail, providing a clue to
where the gun-toting person was headed.

“Knight, watch the door. Noble, at my back,”
he said. He was assuming the casings on the ground outside were
military, and was really hoping to avoid a gunfight.

They followed the bloody trail.

It led from the lobby to a dimly lit
hallway.

Sgt. Arnold called out, “Sgt. Arnold, United
States Army. Does anyone here require assistance?”

He never put his weapon down. It remained
aimed into the hallway. He placed every door somewhere in his
vision. He pictured the old targets of
friendlies
and
enemies
that were used on the shooting ranges. But any
target he might face now had the real potential to shoot back.

“Army?” a male voice replied.

Sgt. Arnold took aim, standing very still.
“Yes. Come on out. We’re your friend here.”

Unless you’re bit.

“Thank God,” said Specialist John Parcells,
revealing himself slowly from a closed office door. “I need some
sleep.”

* * *

Within the course of thirty minutes, the
fireteam had re-secured the front door and settled into an office
space at the rear of the building, away from the highway, in an
effort to have minimal light that might attract attention. It was
the office of a computer repair corporation’s regional manager. The
paraphernalia hanging from the walls and on the desk was dork
nirvana, featuring Star Wars models and Doctor Who videos. Knight
was perusing the toy models and videos with keen interest. A
Trekker himself, he was familiar enough with the respective mythos
of the toys represented that he couldn’t resist taking a
gander.

Sgt. Arnold and Spc. Parcells were engaged in
information sharing.

“So what you’re saying is that you have a
code for some special device that you don’t have right now?” the
sergeant queried.

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“And this device is… what, exactly?”

“I cannot say, Sergeant. It’s
classified.”

“So you know what it is, you just can’t tell
us.”

“Correct, Sergeant.”

“Just drop the formality, son, and give me
something I can work with here.”

“Sounds like a bomb to me,” Noble said, who
had been listening intently to the conversation. “A suitcase nuke?
Dirty bomb?”

Parcells gulped. “I cannot say.” It reminded
him of the childhood game of hot/cold. He wanted to tell them that
they were warm—not hot—but not cold, either. They were wrong, but
they were warm.

“Holy shit,” Sgt. Arnold muttered, reading
Parcells like a book. He figured if he hadn’t hit the nail on the
head, he was at least close. “And these shitheads that hijacked
your Hummer have it?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“But the device is hidden in the Hummer?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Well concealed?”

“Don’t exactly know what you would consider
well
concealed...”

“To lose is to win,” Knight butted in. “And
he who wins shall lose.”

“Knight? What the fuck?” Noble asked.

“Sorry. Just quoting this episode of
Doctor Who
,” he said, holding a DVD case of the British
sci-fi television series. “It’s from the episode entitled
The
Five Doctors
. See, this guy named Rassilon had set up a—”

“Knight, shut the fuck up. Seriously,” Noble
said. “Before you lose what little sex appeal you have left.”

“Whatever,” he said, inserting the disc in
the rebooted computer so he could watch the episode.

“Can you track it?” Sgt. Arnold asked. “They
certainly wouldn’t pack a Hiroshima Special without a GPS.”

“Yeah,” Parcells said, pulling out a small,
handheld global positioning device. A small blip on the screen
revealed the exact location of his entrusted cargo. The coordinates
weren’t too far away.

Sgt. Arnold chuckled. “You know you’re in
pretty deep shit having misplaced that thing, right soldier?”

“Yes, Sergeant.” He shrugged his shoulders,
afraid to make light of the dire predicament.

Arnold and Noble shared a glance as the
familiar
Doctor Who
theme sounded softly from the computer
speakers.

“Parcells, my boy, we’ll help you find it
after we’ve all had some shuteye. Just hope those fucks don’t find
it and set it off first.”

“My thoughts too, Sergeant.”

“And turn that shit off,” he said to Knight,
“and get some sleep.”

6:00 AM

South Point Apartments

Heavy gunfire and several explosions shook
Mike Runyard and Keri Lawrence from their slumber. The movement of
heavy vehicles was heard all around. These weren’t the sounds of
heavy vehicles Mike and Keri were familiar with, dump trucks and
street sweepers. These were distinctly different sounds of clinking
and cold iron. Mike even thought he heard some vehicles with
caterpillar treads.

“What the hell’s going on?” Keri asked.

Cautiously, they stepped outside.

All around them, National Guard soldiers were
establishing fenced perimeters and erecting towers.

“It’s FEMA,” Mike said. “They’re setting up
these apartments as a camp for refugees.”

6:06 AM

Perimeter of State Capitol near Congress
Street

Fireteam Nickson was stoked and ready to go,
liked caged and hungry tigers about to be released into the wild.
If they had been wearing American football-style shoulder pads,
they probably would have been striking them with their fists—or if
they had swords and shields, would have been clanging them
together.

Except for Specialist Daniel Talltree. He was
the exception to the testosterone-fueled antics of his teammates.
He looked as solemn as a funeral.

Cpt. Barrigan had some final remarks.

“Men, you will be responsible for general
reconnaissance.”

“Understood, sir,” Sgt. Nickson said.

“Make me proud, boys. And be aware that there
are traitors to the United States of America out there contributing
to the anarchy we find ourselves in. They have no right to call
themselves soldiers. Traitors are an enemy. You may deal with them
appropriately.”

“Yes, sir,” they responded, in programmed
unison.

The gatekeepers were prepared and opened fire
on the Virals nearby. It was taking longer than ever to clear the
gate just so they could open it for new arrivals and departures.
The number of Virals was obviously growing despite operations to
inhibit it.

The gate slid open, scraping metal on metal,
creating a goosebump-inducing resonance. Fireteam Nickson passed
through.

“All right, Talltree. Take point.”

Stoically, Talltree began following the very
obvious (to him) trail Sgt. Arnold and his team made. The bodies of
neutralized Virals spread in a discernable pattern revealed the
direction their targets had traveled.

Fireteam Nickson moved just as precisely as
their counterparts had, but with the added ability to move in
two-by-two formation, firing and leveling the mounting opposition
of Virals. Sgt. Nickson followed close behind Talltree, who in turn
would trade positions with the “fire” man, Rodriguez, and the
“assist” man, Garrison.