Riposte (The Redivivus Trilogy Book 2) (33 page)

“General?” Garza asked tentatively.

“I’ll be sore for a month, but I’m good,” he replied.

Garza unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed slowly up to the turret. He turned to assess the damage done to the barricade, and his heart sank at what he saw. The leading edge of the pursuing horde was just beginning to worm its way through the ruined barricade. What remained of the obstruction would be little more than a hindrance for them. They were coming through; it was only a matter of time.
Dammit! Nothing for it.

“General, we’re gonna have company soon. The infected are already working their way through the barricade,” Garza said.

Swiveling around, he saw the CDC headquarters looming in the distance. The large campus consisted of over twenty buildings sprawled across approximately fifteen acres. While a hastily constructed chain link fence enclosed the majority of the campus, a more substantial barricade surrounded several buildings in the center of the complex. More concertina wire, hurricane fencing, Jersey barriers, and sandbags surrounded what appeared to be a concrete wall.

Dark smoke billowed from several locations, rising from the smoldering remains of vehicles and buildings alike. Nearly all of the buildings had been gutted by fire and fighting, and the scattered wreckage of the previous struggle marred the landscape. Garza saw very few infected milling about inside the barricade, though he knew that was about to change. He was dismayed at not seeing any solid evidence of any non-infected human occupation. As his concern that they might be too late continued to mount, movement in the distance caught his eye.

As Garza panned his binoculars toward the far side of the heavy barricade, the hope swelling inside him took a sharp nosedive when he focused on the group of infected packed tightly against the fence. Even though that section of the barricade appeared more substantial owing to additional concrete supports, it still seemed to undulate under the combined weight of the infected mass surging against it.
Why the hell are they all bunched up like that? What’s keeping them there?

While he was thankful the infected were too distracted to notice them, he wondered what held their undivided attention. All of a sudden, the answer hit him like a bolt of lightning. Having been so preoccupied with what he was not seeing, he failed to appreciate the significance of what he was seeing. He knew there was only one reason the infected ever amassed in such numbers and that sent his hope soaring up to new heights.

“They’re here! I don’t think we’re too late!” Garza exclaimed. Dropping into the truck, he saw the hopeful expressions on each of their faces.

“Where?” General Montes asked excitedly.

“I’m not exactly sure. I think they are in the building to the right of the road ahead,” he replied.

“Did you see them? How many?” Montes asked.

“No, but there’s a large group of the infected pressed against the far side of the barricade in the center of the campus. They have to be in there,” Garza said with certainty. He watched their faces darken considerably with his words. Before they could fall too far, he continued, “Why else would the infected be bunched up like that? What other explanation could there be?”

While Lin could think of at least a hundred, she nodded. “It is logical. We should check it out,” she said as she turned to General Montes.

A moment later, General Montes was back behind the wheel.

Before he put the truck in gear, Garza ducked inside and said, “The path ahead is elevated and too narrow for the Bearcat. I don’t see a road, but it looks like there’s a vehicle-launched bridge to the left.”

General Montes maneuvered the Bearcat onto the heavy steel bridge, which did not waver under the weight as it crept down the incline. As they pulled onto the grassy common area in the center of the campus, Garza saw more bodies than he could count littering the ground around them. There were soldiers as well as civilians with all manner of horrific injuries; the only commonality was the headshot. The air was heavy with the putrescence of decay, pressing down upon him like a pungent cloak of wet, festering death thrown over his head, making it all but impossible to breathe.
I feel like I’m being water-boarded in Hell’s morgue by the Devil himself.
The dead were so thick in places that the sickening crunch of bones snapping under the Bearcat’s wheels was almost one continuous noise, adding to the horror of the nightmarish scene.

“There! Between those two buildings up ahead,” Garza said.

Montes steered the Bearcat across the once expertly landscaped commons in the direction he indicated. Where there had once been sod and mulch, there was only blood and gore. The butterflies fluttering lazily around the flowerbeds were replaced by swarms of blowflies hovering over the gardens of the dead. They rolled past a park bench undoubtedly used by countless employees to enjoy a little sunshine while escaping the chaos of the office. A severed leg set next to an otherwise unidentifiable clump of hair and tissue on the gore-stained bench, as if someone had been in a hurry and merely forgotten them. Garza felt the bile rise in his throat as he absorbed the carnage.

Ahead, General Montes caught his first glimpse of the horde as the truck crested a low rise. Nearly filling the space between two buildings, and pressed against the barricade to their left, were well over one hundred infected. A line of raised planters close to the building on the right prevented Montes from steering around the things clawing at one another to get closer to whatever was on the other side of the barricade.

“I see a gate farther down, roughly seventy yards beyond the horde. If we can get through them quickly, I may be able to open it before they have time to catch up to us,” Garza said hopefully from his perch in the turret opening. As soon as the truck was on level ground atop the rise, Montes depressed the accelerator. The big tires spun, momentarily losing traction on the blood-soaked grass, before lurching toward the infected at the rear of the pack. There was a wet
thwack
as the push bar collided with the closest monster. They were so tightly packed that the impact set off a chain reaction, knocking the first into those next to it as the Bearcat crawled over them one after the other. Like a Cuisinart, the truck ground the infected into the muddy ground, leaving a pureed chum trail of destruction as it passed.

Garza glanced toward the barricade and the buildings beyond, still seeing no sign of human occupation.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we are too late.
Looking behind them, he saw that the infected were already closing ranks, filling in the swath of carnage cut by the Bearcat. “They know we’re here now,” Garza muttered.

General Montes called out from the driver’s seat, “We’re through. Get ready to work on that gate.” A quick glance in the side mirror told Montes they would not have much time. Garza watched as many of the pursuing infected fell to the ground after becoming ensnared in the tangle of limbs left in the Bearcat’s wake. Even so, he knew they would be cutting it close given the distance between the gate and the leading edge of the horde.

As the truck ground to a halt, Garza climbed out the roof hatch and dropped to the ground. His foot slipped in the mud when he landed, causing him to tumble to the side. A raspy snarl from behind him made his heart leap in his chest as he rolled to his back to face whatever horror was about to befall him. He was simultaneously relieved and disturbed by what he saw.

The torso of one of the infected was wedged inside the wheel well, its left arm and mangled shoulder hopelessly tangled in the coil spring suspension. All that remained of the left side of its face were the underlying bones, as the skin and muscle had been stripped away by the friction of the tire treads. Despite the fact that its right arm was clearly broken, it still reached impotently for him, all the while still snarling. Feeling what little nerve he still possessed slipping away, Garza knew he had to silence its dreadful moan. Before he even realized what he was doing, he raised his boot in the air and kicked out hard. The thing’s head smashed against the spring, and he felt it give as though it was being forced through a garlic press. The moaning stopped instantly, though he could hear a similar call carried by the distant wind.

Hopping to his feet, Garza rushed over to the heavy steel gate. Compared to the barricade the Bearcat tore through to get to the CDC campus, this one was far more substantial. Garza saw no apparent way to open it from the outside. The gate itself was crude in its design and appeared to move to the side when it opened. He dropped to his hands and knees and looked through the small space below the heavy panel. His heart sank when he saw that the gate slid into a metal and concrete reinforced channel just inside the barricade. Even if they could build up speed, he had serious doubts about the Bearcat’s ability to push through the obstacle.

The sound of the approaching horde reached his ears a moment before the first shambling figure came into view. Feeling defeated, Garza started toward the truck, praying they could come up with another plan. He spun at the sound of movement behind him, wondering how the infected had managed to get so close.

* * *

“Sir, Judge reports the crowd is moving toward the south gate. Seems they are being drawn by an approaching truck,” Col. Warren said.

“Come again? What the hell do you mean
a truck
? None of our men are out, are they?” Lieutenant
‘L.T.’
Weaver screamed into the radio.

“No, sir. It’s not one of ours,” Col. Warren replied tentatively.

“Son-of-a-bitch! Get your guys out there and take care of it! Send me a sitrep. I’m on my way with Sodecci,” L.T. said.

A moment later, Col. Doug ‘
Mother
’ Warren, was out the door of Building 18, leading his three remaining soldiers to meet the two already at the south gate.

“What’s the situation, Mother?” one of the soldiers asked as they raced toward the main entrance to the facility.

“No clue. Judge said there’s a truck at the gate, and it’s got the infected all riled up,” he replied.

“A truck? What the hell? More marauders? I hate those assholes!” the only female soldier in the group said.

When Mother and his soldiers reached the south gate, Judge and Rooster were already set up in elevated shooting positions. Breathlessly, Mother called out, “What are we dealing with, Judge? Hostiles?”

After a short pause that felt like an eternity, Judge responded in his usual southern drawl. “No, sir. Unless you count the crowd as hostiles, in which case we’ve got about seventy or eighty—maybe more. I’ve seen two people with the truck, which is marked Atlanta SWAT. Both are male, and they appear to be military. The fellow that was checking out the gate wore a tattered U.S. uniform but I didn’t recognize the uniform of the guy driving the truck.”

Rooster called from the other side, sounding like the polar opposite of Judge, “I’d say those rotten assholes are pretty damned hostile! Want us to light ’em up, boss?”

Mother ignored the second man’s comment and radioed Lt. Weaver. “Sir, Judge doesn’t think the people in the truck are hostile, but they’re surrounded by at least seventy infected. They are in an Atlanta SWAT APC and may be military with at least one U.S. and another unknown.”

Mother held his hand to his earpiece as he listened to L.T.’s orders. He nodded, and said, “I’m sorry, a scientist from where?...Not sure, sir…Yes, sir. We’ll take care of it.”

Turning to his soldiers, Mother said, “L.T. wants us to get that truck in here. Any suggestions?”

Ice, a soldier who had remained quiet up to this point, said, “Since we can’t turn back the hands of time and get them to use the distraction, we could always toss a few grenades into the crowd.”

“You and your explosions,” Stack said. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Mother nodded. “Why does L.T. want these guys in here so bad?” Stack asked.

“Apparently someone important is supposed to be heading to this facility, and Dr. Sodecci has reason to believe that person is in that truck,” Mother replied. Seeing the skeptical looks on each of their faces, he added, “If L.T. believes it, then we believe it. Now let’s move! Suppressed shots only. Let’s not call any more infected to this party.”

Mother climbed to an elevated position visible to the people on the ground outside. He planned to signal the occupants of the truck and inform them of their intentions. Staring out at the battered armored truck, he hoped L.T. was making the right call to trust whoever was inside the vehicle. The remaining soldiers ascended into elevated shooting positions spread out along the wall. When Mother was certain he had the attention of the Bearcat’s driver, he flashed him a reassuring
thumbs up
before pointing his rifle around the yard to indicate they were about to open fire on the infected. All he could do now was hope they got the message.

“All right, boys…and Cujo—let ’em have it,” Mother barked.

The sound of suppressed gunfire filled the air as the small firing squad doled out headshot after headshot. The infected were amassed all around the Bearcat, and scores of bodies fell under the hail of bullets. No sooner than one hit the ground, another moved forward to fill in the gap. Mother watched as a veritable wall of death formed all around the armored truck, but the number of infected still on their feet did not seem to diminish.
Where the hell are they all coming from?
The mass of corpses between the truck and the gate soon became so great that he wondered if the truck would be able to push through without getting stuck atop the mound of bodies. When the dead were stacked so high that the infected started using their fallen brethren like scaffolding to climb onto the besieged truck, Mother knew they needed to modify their plan.