Green Fields (Book 2): Outbreak (25 page)

Probably.
 

Hopefully.

Burns and Nate both had some night-vision attachments for their scopes, so it only made sense that they would narrow down our entry vector further—as they called it. Very fancy description for deciding when to get out the bolt cutters and make a new door for us to sneak in, if anyone had asked me. Which they didn’t.
 

The moon shed just enough light to make out the expanse of the airstrip with a few warehouses and other buildings at the far end, but that wasn’t where we were headed. Instead, we crept across part of the strip and further away from the main base until we reached what in the dark looked like two sheds. And that was when the trouble started.

Beyond, I could see the low hills where the bunkers were located. There was an entire row of them, enough to look like it would hold weapons and ammo for more than five raiding parties, even if they were really ambitious.
 

I didn’t need to see or hear the zombies moving around in front and all over the bunkers, though, to know that they were there. No, I could already smell them.

Not being able to see much didn’t mean that the intense odor of decay wasn’t a dead giveaway of what lay before us. On the asphalt road leading by the bunkers—somewhat lighter compared to the grass around it—I could see a multitude of blotches, some of them moving, others not so much. My best guess was that whoever had been able to survive or hold out on the base had used the bunkers as their last resort—and their last line of defense had ended just ahead of where we were crouching now. Even with my scarf firmly pulled over my mouth and nose, it was hard to breathe.
 

“That’s a dead end,” Nate finally admitted, drawing a ripple of disgruntled sighs from the others.

“But we’re so close!” Burns whisper-whined.

“We could be standing right next to one of the bunkers and still couldn’t make it inside,” Nate pointed out. “There are at least two hundred squatting here, and probably even more that we can’t see yet. Can’t be sure but several of the doors look like they’ve been busted open already.”

“So someone was quicker than us?” Cho butted in.
 

“Looks like it.”

“There could still be some ammo left,” Andrej pointed out.

Nate shook his head. “Too risky.”

“You’re already quitting?” Burns sounded more surprised than offended.

“Didn’t say that,” Nate said. “Just that I don’t want to senselessly lose anyone and then find out that the bunkers have been cleared out.”

Silence fell, and I couldn’t have been the only one who felt somewhat dejected.

“What do we do now?”

He considered for a while, then nodded toward the dark shape that made up the rest of the base. “Search over there. Even if we don’t find another ammo depot, there’s still a good chance that there are guns and ammo in the lockers. Unless you want to loot the remains instead?”

Even in broad daylight when I could see what I was poking at, I hated extracting anything from what the zombies had left over. In the dark where I’d have to rely on touch alone?

“I’d rather not.”

“Thought so,” he murmured. I was sure that even the darkness couldn’t hide the viciousness of my glare.

“We split up,” Nate decided, pointing over at the complex. “Burns, Romanoff, Cho, Lewis, you’re with me. The rest, you take the southern side, and cut right through the command center and tower. We meet up at the other end, or in camp. Take whatever you can find, even if we lack ammo for it, or the weapon to shoot it with. We can always repurpose or trade later. Any questions?”

I was wondering why he’d suddenly switched to calling me by my last name, but even I wasn’t stupid enough to ask that now. Pia had done it several times already, and it wasn’t like any of the guys didn’t know who he meant by that. In fact, it would have surprised me more if he hadn’t teamed me up with Andrej and Burns. It was more out of the ordinary that Bates wasn’t on our team, but then his arm was still acting up, and likely having him and me—the rookie—on the same team would have been foolish. Or whatever.

We split off—Pia leading the others right back the way we had come, while Cho started out straight across the open field toward the warehouses. I followed as soon as I’d counted to five in my head, no longer needing a “go” signal for these kinds of things. Behind me I could barely make out the scrape of boots when the next in line followed. We probably could have just walked across the field; unless we started shouting or shooting, we were likely safe.

The zombies were obviously distracted by other things. Mainly food, because what else would a brain-dead flesh-eater spend its time with?

Something reared up from a lump on the ground just as Cho sprinted past, narrowly missing his leg. I immediately wished my bat back, but I’d left it at the camp, trusting that the shotgun would serve me just as well. With a zombie screaming in my face now, I realized that it had clearly been a shitty decision. Bringing the shotgun up, stock first, I rammed it into what I thought was the zombie’s face. I connected with something, but it didn’t rear back. Instead, it made a grab for me, claws raking across my left arm, snagging in my scarf. It yanked and I felt the fabric tighten across my throat, strangling me.

I let out a pressed sound of distress, flailing around to even find the arm that belonged to the incidental choke hold. Something slammed into the zombie from the other side, bringing it down, but it was still holding onto the scarf, dragging me along. Losing my balance, I fell, landing smack on a heap of struggling, decaying flesh. Not my favorite moment of the night.

Foul breath wafted into my face, jaws snapping right in front of my nose, and I was sure it would have had me if I hadn’t reared back immediately. My shotgun was gone, but that at least left my hands free to push, fingers sinking into sinewy flesh that had too much give to it. My left hand found what felt like a clavicle, and I blindly slammed my other hand down several inches above that, hoping to hit its jaw. I felt my nails scrape over something—a cheekbone maybe?—before my fingers sank into a crevice, and with horror I realized that I was clawing its eye out. The zombie let out a gurgle, and I was just quick enough for it not to snap my fingers off as I whipped my hand back.
 

Arms appeared around my hip, yanking me back, and for a moment the scarf bit into my throat, making my beginning cry break off. Then it tore free, leaving me gasping as Burns physically heaved me out of the way so Andrej could finish the zombie with a few choice kicks to the head.
 

Panting hard, I wiped my fingers on my pants leg, incredibly disgusted. That I couldn’t see the ichor on my skin just made it worse. So, so much worse.
 

“Snap out of it!” Nate hissed right next to me, and when I just couldn’t stop, he slapped me, hard enough to make my teeth sink painfully into my tongue as my head snapped back. I staggered and almost went down a second time, but managed to regain my balance. My shoe scraped against something hard, and I realized I’d tripped over my shotgun. Cursing low under my breath, I scooped it back up, my cheek burning as much with humiliation as the physical sting.

The moment I straightened, I saw a shape come at me, and I had just enough time to slam the Remington back up to connect with another hungry jaw. Training pushed panic away and I half-turned around, gathering enough momentum so that when I hit the zombie again, it went down. Two more loomed up before me, but when they fell on their downed comrade-in-undeath, I whipped around and ran in the direction we’d been heading. The scuffling sounds ahead made me guess that the way wasn’t clear, but by the time I caught up, all obstacles were dispatched. Andrej was the last to follow, and once reunited, we took off toward the buildings ahead, no longer caring whether the sound of our steps drew attention or not. The scuffle had been at least twice as noisy.

I let the side of the building slow me to a halt as we reached it, the feeling of concrete reassuring under my hand. Panting heavily, I tried to make out sounds in the dark but all I could hear were the booted steps of the others following me. How had I ended up in the lead? It really didn’t matter.

I waited until the last shape joined me, then crept toward the edge of the building so I could look around the corner. A night-vision scope might have been nice, but my eyes were accustomed enough to the darkness that I could make out whether the way ahead was clear or not. Hiding in the shadow of the building, I hoped that any zombies that had become aware of us would lose interest soon, but when I finally reached the corner, I realized that we were out of luck.

Ducking back, I turned my head to whisper into the ear of who was hunching next to me—Cho, I realized.

“There’s an entire group of them ahead. At least twenty, probably thirty.”

I felt him nod, with more whispering following. I remained pressed against the building, waiting for directions to come back the other way.

“They’re still behind us,” Cho explained after a few endless seconds. “Do you see a door or window around the corner?”

That sounded like a hell of a stupid idea, but I still held my breath and looked around, daring to lean forward enough that I could scan that side of the building.

“There’s something in the middle of it,” I murmured. “Not sure what. Hangar doors maybe?” This had been an Air Force base, after all—and I doubted they always kept the planes outside. “But the zombies are hunkered down right between us and the doors.”

I knew exactly when Cho relayed the news to Burns because he couldn’t quite quench the curse that drew. More to and fro followed, until they finally reached a decision. I wasn’t sure how I felt about not being included in that, but at least it wouldn’t be my fault if we all got eaten by zombies.

“We sneak by them and into the hangar,” Cho told me, sounding resigned and not very happy about it.

“Anyone else wanna take point?” I asked, my last flicker of hope dying.

“Ladies first,” he whispered back, making me roll my eyes even though I knew none of them could see it.

Gripping the Remington harder, I exhaled forcefully, trying to clear my head and slow down my racing heart. This was so going to end in disaster. I just knew it.

Trying to move as smoothly as possible without actually creeping, I stepped around the corner, staying close enough to the wall that I felt it lightly scrape the fabric on my elbow. With each step forward, I got closer and closer to the zombies that were—what else?—busy tearing one of the lumps on the ground to pieces. There was a lot of slurping, chewing, and gnawing going on, the sounds making me sick with only the fright clawing up my spine able to keep my gorge from rising.
 

The first few were too busy with their snack to notice me, but as I continued forward, one step at a time, a few of them glanced up. I could see their eyes follow my motions, jaws continuing to chew. My pulse sped up further, my mind screaming to run, run, RUN! But I cut down on the impulse and continued on slowly and steadily instead.

Until one of them surged up and took a few dragging steps toward me, stopping close enough to touch, not that I’d ever want to do that. Holding my breath, I froze, staring at its face, trying to gauge whether it would go for my face, or not.

Standing there, it moved forward, making strange, low sounds that I realized was it scenting the air. Could they actually smell us? I hadn’t considered that before, and it made no sense whatsoever to me. Glancing back out of the corner of my eye, I saw that the others had stopped a good ten feet away from me, spread out but with the largest gap right behind me.
 

Continuing to sniff, the zombie leaned closer—close enough now that it was impossible not to smell it. That special twang of decomposition layered heavily over body odor, sweat, and excrement. Even if I’d never smell that again—which was highly doubtful, unless I was about to kick it—that aroma would chase me through nightmares until the end of my life.

It let out a low keen that ended in a snarl, making me want to press myself more firmly into the wall at my back. Instead, I forced myself to extend my hand—my right hand, the one that was still full of zombie eye goop. In eerie synchronicity it bridged the distance to my fingers as I extended them, my hand shaking while the other convulsed around my shotgun. I wondered briefly that if it bit me, I could possibly save myself if I cut off my arm. Likely not, considering that the virus would get transported straight to my heart within just a few heartbeats. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to live on if that happened.

It growled, snapping toward my fingers, but stopping shy of them again. Cocking its head to the side, it stared transfixed at my hand. Something—drool I hoped, but doubted it—started running from the corner of its torn lips and down its chin where part of the bone was shining through the torn skin and muscle. More teeth snapping, and now it leaned toward me further, and suddenly I had enough.
 

If I was going to die here, I wouldn’t do it while whimpering to myself.

I pushed myself away from the wall, right toward the zombie, hissing into its face. It shied back, immediately increasing the distance between us. Not intimidated—I doubted they had enough brain power to feel complicated emotions like fear—but clearly backing away for a reason. Snarling, I took another step forward, using that same kind of jerky motion that it had been displaying in its curious endeavor.

Turning away, the zombie lumbered a few feet forward where it dropped down to its haunches, going face-first for the already torn-apart carcass on the floor.

I couldn’t believe that had worked, but I was so not going to protest.

Jerking my hand back to the safety of my shotgun, I continued slinking along the wall, not bothering with moving slowly now. A few more heads turned, but their eyes skipped right on, quickly returning to their meal.

Thirty endless steps later concrete changed to steel, and a little scrambling around got my fingers latched onto a door handle. In a complete break from how our night had gone so far, the door swung inward without putting up much resistance, and as soon as I’d ducked inside, I flattened myself against the wall right next to it, fear leaving a sour aftertaste in my mouth.