Soldier On: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (8 page)

Mister Rasta had a little bit of a lead but fortunately for Cade the heavy SUV left easy to follow tire tracks. Near the end of a long straightaway the gravel gave way to a single lane paved road. Cade slowed his pace so he wouldn’t accidently run into the Suburban that he was shadowing.

He was torn, should he make contact or not? On the one hand, if he let the man go along his merry reggae way then he might be letting the smallest scrap of useful information slip away. On the other hand he couldn’t just walk up to the man, say “Hi” and pick his brain. That is unless he stuck a pistol in his face. At the very least, the man would likely have
some
knowledge about the shape America was in. Cade finally came to the conclusion that in order to have any chance of finding his family he was going to have to mine the man for any useful nuggets of information that he might have.

Cade slowed the bike to a crawl. On the shoulder of the road sat a gold, two door, compact car. The small Mazda bounced on its springs, unfortunately no one was getting lucky in the back seat, the tomb still held its trapped occupants inside. There was so much gore from the initial violence and the subsequent decomposition, Cade had to move closer to see inside. Three flailing corpses festered in the stifling heat of the closed vehicle. Opaque with greasy green bodily fluids, the window flexed against pressing palms as the swollen zombie in the front seat fought the locked door to get at the meat. The poor souls in the back seat had been young kids, their faces pressing against the window almost seemed normal, except that they were both undead. Thankfully he wasn’t near enough to smell them but he could hear their howls over the idling bike. The car had Utah license plates with the rust colored rock arch splayed across the face. The cheap plastic frame held another clue; Saul’s Salt Lake Mazda was printed in raised bold yellow letters. He wished mercy upon the trio but there was no reason to waste any bullets on them. He left the macabre scene behind, thankful that he didn’t know anyone in Salt Lake. Duncan, the Vietnam era aviator that had stayed behind at Camp Williams, however, had a brother there.
God help him,
was the first thing that came to the former Delta operators mind.

Cade thought it was about time to find a safe place to spend the night. A farmhouse or secluded commercial building would probably be best-anything would be better than the camp of the dead he had stayed in the previous night.

If his map was correct then the town of Hanna was near. It appeared to be one of those “
blink and you will miss it
” kinds of backwater towns. Cade thought,
the kind where banjos dueled and polygamy was still practiced
. A brief smile crossed his face because it was something Duncan probably would have proudly said out loud.

Outbreak Day 6

Centers for Disease Control

Atlanta, Georgia

From the cockpit of the HH-60G Pave Hawk, the southeastern part of the country was beginning to look like every other god forsaken third world shithole that Chief Warrant Officer Ari Silver had had the pleasure of running ops in. Bodies littered the streets and sidewalks of every city they overflew. Stalled cars choked nearly every thoroughfare; the rare vehicle moving was inevitably being pursued by the walking dead. Everywhere he looked small house fires raged out of control. What troubled Ari the most was the fact that he had not seen any police or military trying to bring order to the chaos below.

 Ari was pushing the helicopter hard and almost missed the people hailing them. Below on the starboard side of the ship was what appeared to be a small hotel or suburban hospital. The rectangular beige building belched fire from the ground floor up. Without thinking he throttled back the twin turbines of the black helicopter and brought it to a near hover at 200 feet AGL. The sign on the building was now readable; the Long Acre Retirement Villa was burning. The vivid scene was etched in his brain as the desperate elderly were jumping from the windows of the six story building. As the shadow of the Pave Hawk slowly arced across the building, a lady in a pink bathrobe, clutching a small poodle, jumped from the top floor. He watched her flailing body intersect with the aircrafts crossing shadow before bouncing twice on the ground. Oddly the zombies ignored her dead body but chased the seemingly uninjured dog around the green lawn. The geriatrics writhing on the ground, that were not fortunate enough to die from the fall, were being torn apart and consumed by the ravenous horde of undead.

For Ari the elderly jumpers conjured up flashbacks of 9/11. They were no different than those poor souls who were unable to hold on to the sharp twisted steel skin of the World Trade center or the ones that simply chose to jump, escaping the inferno caused by burning jet fuel. He instantly remembered the man in a soot covered business suit performing the sign of the cross seconds before releasing his hold and freefalling backward one hundred stories to his death. It made no difference whether it was one hundred stories or six; it was still an awful way to go.

There was no way to help the few people that were still on the rooftop.

“I feel like a piece of shit,” the pilot intoned, his voice seemingly about to crack.

“There’s nothing that we can do for them Ari,” said his co-pilot, Warrant Officer Bill Durant, the stress was also evident in his voice. “If only we could spare a few rounds from the minigun.”

A third voice came through the intercom, “I think we have extra 7.62 for the mini as it is.” The voice was the door gunner’s and it was clear that he wanted them to intervene. “No one
has
to know.”

Ari glanced back at the Delta Force operators that he was tasked with delivering to the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta Georgia. “General Desantos Sir, what say you?”

Without saying a word the emotionally detached operator put one gloved hand over his mouth and the other over his eyes. Out of solidarity the other D-Boys did the same.

CWO Ari Silver gave the door gunner thumbs up and held the helo in a perfect hover, upwind and out of the thick acrid smoke belching from every window in the building.

Sergeant Dean Hicks powered up the M134 and sighted on the undead orgy on the ground. The gun whined as it spit out three hundred bullets. Sod erupted in green and brown geysers as the bullets passed cleanly through the zombies and the doomed people underneath them. When the two second burst was finished nothing moved. Flames were now licking over the roofs edge. Several wheelchair bound people remained clustered together near the center of the smoking roof.

The gunner watched as elderly zombies began pouring out of the open rooftop door.
Please forgive me
, Hicks thought as he sighted on the trapped invalids. He caressed the trigger, once more the minigun belched lead, and Hicks didn’t see the carnage because he had purposefully diverted his eyes.

The mercy killing was over in seconds.

“Requesting permission to engage the the targets on the ground,” the gunner’s voice crackled in Ari's headset.

“Negative Hicks, save the ammo for a rainy day.” Ari answered.

The black helicopter climbed, banked sharply and resumed a southern heading. Hicks’s stomach violently churned from the combination of intense g-forces and mixed emotions over shooting fellow Americans. Jack Kevorkian he was not, but it would have been unthinkable to let the old folks be eaten by those things.

Ari knew deep down that the mission they were on could possibly mean life or death for the remaining percentage of the population; he twisted the throttle to increase their airspeed and make up for the lost time. Although Ari was not proud of the actions he and his crew had undertaken, he hoped that if he were in a similar situation someone would show him the same mercy.

“Look...on the deck,” Ari said.

They buzzed an enormous traffic jam; sun glinted off of the multicolored metal and glass snake. It stretched for twenty miles, all of the vehicles were pointing away from the center of downtown Atlanta. There was movement among the cars. Some of the undead were shuffling between the tangled mazes, others were still trapped in the vehicles that they had died and reanimated in.

“
Whoa
. Look at all of those crows.” Durant was talking about the black biomass feeding on the piles of corpses dotting the shoulder of the road. “It must have been madness down there trying to flee the city.”

Hicks added, “No less than the poor people that heeded FEMA’s advice and stayed behind in the belly of the beast.”

Both men continued to stare at the carnage below as it whizzed by under the helo.

The Pave Hawk slowed to 80 knots, Ari gave General Desantos the five minute warning with his open hand, and Desantos passed it on.

The six Delta operators utilized the last five minutes readying their weapons and reflecting on the mission ahead. To a man, they prayed to whatever higher power they believed in before they had to face the walking dead again.

***

Mike Desantos thought that the mission to rescue the President and retrieve the football could never be topped in terms of difficulty. During the mission the previous night he had lost half of his twelve man team. They had breached the inner sanctum of the White House only to find that the President and his family were already infected, lost to Omega. He had personally put the bullet in Odero’s brain and inherited the unenviable task of hacking off the President’s arm to remove the briefcase containing the nuclear codes. For his leadership the rookie President had promoted him to the rank of Two Star General. It was awkward to say the least. Generals rarely went out in the field let alone did the shooting. Mike Desantos didn’t question orders he merely followed them.

***

Today he was going to lead his team into the bowels of the Center for Disease Control. There was no Intel, no floor plan and certainly no enemy strength estimates. His team was loaded for bear but going into the den blind. He and his men had been riding in the same helicopter for six hundred miles nonstop. Thanks to aerial refueling, made possible by the retractable probe on the helo’s nose and one of the remaining tanker crews, it wasn’t necessary to sit exposed on an airport tarmac or forage for fuel. He hadn’t as of yet divulged their final destination. These were the best of the best and they would be ready to go even if their mission was taking them to the gates of hell and they were tasked to bag old Beelzebub himself. He would wait and break the news to them when they were all safely on the rooftop.

 Silver maneuvered the Pave Hawk around the sprawling campus encompassing the level-four containment building. It housed the Emerging Infectious Disease research arm of the Centers for Disease Control. All of the bugs that could cause a pandemic and kill a large swath of humanity were contained deep underground.

“
That’s encouraging
.” shouted Desantos over the onboard comms as he stabbed a finger at the nearly empty parking lots that dominated the grounds.

“Good thing for us the shit hit the fan on the weekend,” added Durant.

“The Center for Disease Control is one of the best funded operations in the United States. Outside of Plum Island in New Jersey and a few smaller facilities...this is where the dangerous shit is kept. Don’t let the absence of a few cars fool you. I shit you not, the place had to have had people working to sort out Omega around the clock,” Desantos didn’t want to take the wind out of the co-pilots sails, but he was a realist. “Lock and load fellas.”

Ari Silver finished the aerial recon of the grounds, noting the large amount of shambling dead. “General, we’re going to have to take a chance with the aerials and put your team on the roof. It’s way too hot to put her down on the grass, we’d be overrun the second the wheels hit the ground.”

Avoiding the antennas on the approach to the LZ was front and center on the pilots mind. Chief Warrant Officer Ari Silver had flown down Mogadishu alleys in a little bird, dropped SEAL Team Six operators on top of terrorist strongholds while under heavy fire and navigated the tight confines of dry wadis flying nap of the earth in both of the hot wars the United States had been embroiled in. It made no difference where he was flying; home was at the controls of a rotor wing aircraft. He deftly side slipped the big Pave Hawk around the array of antennas that bristled from the top of the modern multi-story steel and glass structure. Sergeant Hicks poked his head out of the door and called out the distance to the roof. Durant did the same from his seat. The antenna array was used to send and receive communications but it hadn’t been utilized since the first days of the Omega outbreak.

Ari picked a path between two of the communication antennas, flared the Pave Hawk and gently put her down, being careful to avoid the air scrubbers and HVAC equipment scattered atop the roof.

Normally after an insertion the SOAR pilots orbited the target area in case the operators needed an emergency exfil. Desantos ordered Dooley and Rooks to remain behind and guard the Pave Hawk and her aircrew.

Even though the helicopter held enough fuel to transport them to the predetermined emergency refuel point, Ari made the difficult decision to remain on the roof with the engine powered down. Another aerial refueling couldn’t be guaranteed, making the contingency plan necessary. Ari held no reservations that his flying days might be numbered since aviation fuel was not a finite resource and the people proficient at refining it were probably dead. Ari sat in the pilot’s seat while the mission unfolded in the building below.