Convoy 19: A Zombie Novel Page 6

  Dr. Thomson and Sergeant Adams – head of security – stood on the edge of the rooftop. Dr. Thomson paced back and forth nervously, while the Sergeant popped off shots at the ground below and growled into his radio. “There’s a shit ton of them! Lot guards! Drop what you’re doing and join me on the roof. Grab all the ammo you can on the way up. We’ll establish a firing position.”

  Kelly rushed to join her coworker, her heart thumping in her ribcage. As the parking lot below came into view, she could see it was occupied by a thick stream of walking dead wandering funnel-like toward the building. Directly below her, the red taillights of a truck poked out from a gaping hole in the side of the music store. The dead were streaming in one by one, two by two – manageable for the moment, but endless.

  Minutes passed, and for every ghoul that Sergeant Adams shot in the head, one slipped into the DDC. Kelly looked on helplessly as screams, shouting, and gunfire from the ground floor painted a horrifying mental picture of what was happening below.

  “Shit!” Sergeant Adams growled. His rifle had run dry, and he slung it around his shoulder as he drew his sidearm. He broke into a sprint towards the door, and shouted into his radio, “Where is my ammo?”

  He swung the door open to see a thin man in a hospital gown hunched over another soldier. The “man” shoved gore into his maw and turned toward Sergeant Adams. With an insane look in its black eyes, the monster sprang to its feet and lunged toward the Sergeant with two outstretched hands.

  Sergeant Adams got his arms up in time to block the monster from sinking its teeth into his face, but he was knocked onto his back. The ghoul flailed on top of him, screeching and growling as it fought to make a meal out of its new victim. While the military man was larger and more muscular than the zombie was, bloodlust had given the beast an overwhelming strength.

  Dr. Thomson kicked and punched the undead creature in an impotent attempt to help the Sergeant, but the monster felt no pain.

  Kelly’s heart thumped in her chest as she took a step towards the melee. If this monster overcame the chief of security, there would be nothing between her and it. She paused in her tracks and turned back to the corpse lying in the hallway. In the soldier’s lifeless hand was a rifle, and Kelly reached down to grab it. As her fingers gripped the metal, the soldier’s eyes jolted opened and locked on her with a cold hungry stare. A moan bubbled with red gore as it rose from the ghoul’s throat, and it reached for Kelly with one stiff arm.

  Kelly screamed. She pulled and kicked violently in an attempt to pry the weapon from the monster’s grip. The dead soldier leered at her hungrily and released the weapon. The force of their separation thrust the beast back onto the hallway floor and Kelly back onto the gravel roof. The door between them swung closed with a slam.

  “AHHHH!” Sergeant Adams screamed. His adrenaline-fueled struggle against his attacker had lost out against the fury of the hungry dead. Blood spurted from a severed artery in his neck, and the monster’s head swung back with a hunk of red flesh in its teeth. As it gulped down the rag of meat, the ghoul turned its eyes on Dr. Thomson and reached toward a new victim.

  Kelly turned, took aim, and fired. Shooting felt clumsy to her, but at her range, it was nearly impossible to miss. The impact of the bullet sent a thin spray of blood from a red quarter-sized hole in the undead man’s back, but there was no effect.

  Sergeant Adams lay on the ground. His blood oozed from a horrific wound in his shoulder. Despite his desperate attempts to stop the bleeding, blood gushed through his fingers. “He… heellllp… meeeeee.”

  Dr. Thomson backed toward the ledge of the roof. There was no escape. The ghoul, eyes locked on Dr. Thomson, rose to its feet, stepped over the dying Sergeant Adams, and lumbered toward him.

  Kelly fired again, and more red erupted from the monster’s back… but it did not stop.

  She fired a third time and then a fourth, and finally the zombie stopped moving toward the doctor. Its shoulders were slouched, and the life had seemed to drain from its body, until it turned to look over its shoulder at Kelly. A hollow moan issued through its bloodstained jaws.

  “The head!” Dr. Thomson yelled. “Shoot it in the head!”

  The monster turned toward her and took one step followed by another in a relentless quest for its new victim. Kelly took aim. “How could something so fundamental be so easily forgotten?” Kelly wondered as she pulled the trigger.

  The rifle bucked in her grip, and the beast dropped to its knees before thudding face-first into the ground.

  “He…lp…meeeee!” Sergeant Adams whimpered. A dark red puddle of blood had formed in the gravel beneath him, and his arms were stained red to the elbows.

  Kelly and Dr. Thomson rushed to the dying man with a sense of utter helplessness. Even if they could stop the bleeding, the creature’s bite condemned him to join the ranks of the undead.

  “Heeelp me!” Sergeant Adams groaned again as he looked into Kelly’s eyes. He gasped for breath like a fish out of water. His strength was draining from his body. His arms became too heavy to place pressure on his wound and fell limply to the ground. The blood pumped from his wound to the rhythm of his weakening heartbeat.

  “I’m sorry!” Tears welled up in Kelly’s eyes, as she took aim at the Sergeant’s head. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Do… It…” The Sergeant nodded back at her in understanding.

  Kelly pulled the trigger.

  Dr. Thomson put his hand on Kelly’s shoulder, offering some small comfort. They had both seen plenty of terminally ill patients pass, but this was something else entirely. Being the hand of mercy was a scarring task. The moment was short lived.

  Kelly turned, gun first, towards the rooftop exit. The metal door stood between them and the horrible sounds of screaming and gunshots that came from within the DDC. Kelly wondered why the guard she had taken the gun from had not come through to attack them. She gave Dr. Thomson an apprehensive look. Dr. Thomson cautiously inched toward the door before pulling it open. The only evidence of the soldier who had been killed in the hallway was a gruesome bloodstain that ran down the wall and onto the floor. A crimson smear trailed off into the darkness of the hall. Bloody red footprints told the story simply enough. The reanimated guard had gone to hunt for prey inside the DDC.

  “What do we do?” Kelly whispered.

  Dr. Thomson had no answer. His body shook with fear. He poked his head inside the hallway and peered into the clinic.

  Kelly slid into the corridor as quietly as she could.

  A rapid popping of gunfire from the ground floor prompted a wave of screams and gasps from the families huddled together in the second story living area. Kelly inched her way down to the end of the hallway, stairwell on her right, living area on her left. There were perhaps a dozen families huddled under cots staring back at her with wide-eyed terror.

  Movement in Dr. Thomson’s office caught her attention. There, on the floor, huddled a shadow hunched over a body. The disgusting sound of wet chewing sickened Kelly as she drew closer.

  Dr. Thomson slid in behind Kelly. “That’s…”

  “Shhh!” Kelly ordered.

  “Shoot it!” Dr. Thomson whispered.

  “Shhh!” Kelly repeated.

  Kelly arrived at the stairwell to the ground floor. She chanced a glance as she slid past. A body lay halfway down the stairs, but it was otherwise vacant. She took one step, then another toward Dr. Thomson’s office.

  Yet another chorus of screaming from the living area followed another series of pops from downstairs. Kelly turned to the hiding families and placed her finger over her lips.

  When she turned back toward the office, the ghoul was gone. Kelly froze with dread. Had it slipped out of the office? Was it hiding in wait for her, ready to attack?

  Kelly forced herself against petrifying terror to take another step forward, until she could reach the office door. Slowly, she stretched her trembling arm out and gripped the door handle.

  More gunfire and yelli
ng from downstairs broke the tension, and Kelly slammed the office door closed. She released the breath she had been holding and scurried back toward Dr. Thomson.

  “What now?” Dr. Thomson asked quietly.

  “Stay here. Watch the stairwell door,” Kelly answered back.

  Dr. Thomson nodded.

  Summoning her courage again, Kelly forced herself onto the first step of the stairway. She took one step after another, slowly descending to the ground floor. She held the rifle as she had seen soldiers hold their weapons, but her discomfort and lack of training only enhanced her fear.

  She stepped over the dead body. Kelly knew the man, a father of two young children. He had always been among the first to offer help whenever an opportunity came up. He had been appreciative of the DDC staff and did whatever he could to lighten the burden on them. No doubt, he had heard the commotion, and his willingness to help had cost him his life.

  When Kelly arrived at the foot of the stairs, she looked out into the darkness of the ground floor. The gunfire had stopped, and she had hoped to see guards in charge of an unfortunate but resolved situation. Instead, she was confronted by blackness. Two flashlights lay on the ground, casting small pools of light onto the clinic floor. Curtains were drawn over the front windows, and the faint yellow street light was not enough to illuminate the large room.

  Kelly felt around for the light switch just outside the stairwell wall. A shadow passed over one of the flashlights on the ground, and Kelly froze. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her breath sounded like a roar in her ears.

  With a flick, the room burst into white fluorescent light. Cots, blankets, pillows, and sheets, were strewn about with the day-to-day possessions of the people who had called the DDC home. Overturned tables and chairs lay on the ground. Clothes, backpacks, and suitcases littered the floor. Among all the clutter, there lay over a dozen bodies.

  Snarls rumbled through the room. Ghouls from every nook and cranny lurched away from consuming the freshly dead to lock their eyes onto Kelly. Other newly dead stirred with unlife and rose with a groan to make their way toward the promise of fresh meat. Kelly was suddenly thrust into her worst nightmare. People she had tried to help, friends, colleagues, and security guards – everyone she had known for the past few months fixated on her with an animalistic hunger.

  “Shit!” Kelly dashed up the stairs. Behind her were the inhuman howls of the undead.

  Dr. Thomson extended his hand to Kelly and she saw his eyes grow wide as he looked past her.

  “Oh… my… God…” he whispered. His face was a mask of horror.

  “Close the door!” She screamed.

  Chapter 8

  Pam sighted her rifle and fired two shots into the cadaver shambling towards her. “We have to leave right now! Air support is on its way! We need to be gone when it gets here!” She rushed to join Miguel crouched against the back tire of a hummer. Moments ago, bullets had been clanging and buzzing around them, but now, soldiers and civilians alike turned to defend themselves against an onslaught of hungry undead.

  Miguel watched the corpse Pam had shot sway back and forth from the impact of the bullets… only to continue its pursuit after regaining its balance. “The head, Pam! Shoot them in the head!” Miguel took aim at the zombie and fired. The monster’s head snapped back, and it crumpled into a heap. Soldiers were trained to shoot at the center mass of their target. The torso of a person was not only the easiest to hit, but contained a wide range of vital organs that—once ruptured—would incapacitate any living target. The undead had only one vital organ: the brain. Re-training one’s self to fire at the relatively small and difficult-to-hit cranium was the first hurdle a soldier had to conquer in the war against the living dead. In the heat of the moment, it was easy to forget that, while a few shots to the chest of an attacker were sufficient to drop any living target, the undead were anything but.

  “Okay, let’s get out of… oh… my… God!” Miguel stopped short, and his eyes drifted over Pam’s shoulder.

  Pam followed his gaze toward what he was looking at.

  “My baby! Please! Help my baby!” A woman in a tattered dress, her head bloody and her arms bandaged, limped towards Miguel. With her was a child on a leash that was clearly one of the living dead. The monster scrambled about with feral eyes and gnawed on a blood-soaked gag in its mouth. The flesh of its wrists was torn down to the bone from the zip-ties that bound them. Behind the child, a handful of injured people stumbled out from the wreckage of the overturned semi-trailer. Scores of them had been packed in like sardines – refugees hoping to find solace at the Naval Base. Many were bruised and bloodied from the crash, unprepared for their transport to be used as a motorized battering ram. At least a dozen of the “passengers” were bound and gagged, and wiggling about on the ground. They strained against their bonds, in a vain attempt to feed on the living.

  A year had passed since news outlets first informed the world of the undead epidemic. Nonetheless, it was not uncommon to encounter people who did not understand that their reanimated friends and loved ones were lifeless beasts. Despite the fact that the living dead were bloodthirsty and mindless shells of flesh and bone, they were still sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. It was world shattering to witness the death and reanimation of a loved one, and not everyone had the willpower to accept such a horrible reality. Some people would restrain their infected relatives and hope for a cure. They cared for their living dead indefinitely, traveling with, and even attempting to access safe zones with cannibalistic companions. Often they would kill or even die defending their “families.”

  “What do we do?” Specialist MacAfee, communications expert from another car, rushed over to Pam. He fired his rifle into more of the approaching undead.

  Pam looked about to assess the situation. The walking dead were pouring in around them. The highway was choked with moaning corpses, and the bodies were piling high. Sergeant Quinn had been laying down an oppressive torrent of firepower from his mounted gun, but had been forced to stop by the ghouls swarming his vehicle. Over a dozen clambered over one another to reach him, and a howling press of monsters now obscured the entire car.

  The civilians that had attacked the convoy were fighting in their own life and death struggle… and they were losing. One van had already loaded up and peeled away. The rest were being overrun by the undead, their occupants screaming in agony as they were torn to shreds by dozens of snapping jaws.

  Pam punched the communications link on her helmet. “Convoy 19, get to your vehicles and continue east! Air support is on its way. We can’t help these people.”

  Carl heard the order through his headset. He crawled to the open driver’s-side door of a nearby Humvee, and fired his pistol into the head of an approaching ghoul. It fell next to the corpse of one of Carl’s fellow soldiers. It was Private Logan – he had been crushed below the waist by the collision with the semi. Carl looked into the face of another man who had died under his command… and sighed. Taking aim, he put a bullet into the head of Logan’s corpse. Carl had lost so many men and women under his command. This one, at least, would not reanimate to attack the living.

  He pulled himself into the driver’s seat and checked for the keys. Suddenly, he felt something grasping at his leg, and he swung around with his pistol.

  “Please, sir! Please! I’ll do anything! Please! Take me with you!” A young woman pleaded frantically, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was in her early teens with brown hair and wide brown eyes – a kid who had gotten caught up with a band of desperate and reckless civilians. She clutched at Carl with terror.

  Carl looked at the girl. The bites on her shoulder were obvious. She was doomed, and the merciful act would be to put a bullet in her brain at that moment. Instead, Carl pushed her away and closed the vehicle door. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, as he locked the door.

  “Please! Please! You’re supposed to protect us. Please!” the woman cried.

  “Get u
s the hell out of here!” Private Barona and Private Richards dove into the vehicle from the other side and slammed the doors behind them. Snapping jaws and beating fists threw themselves against the windows in impotent pursuit.

  “Get in that gun mount and cover our guys!” Carl threw the vehicle into reverse. He punched the gas and plowed backward through throngs of undead to give his gunner a better vantage.

  Private Richards climbed into the gun mount and began pumping fire into the area. Time was a factor. If the streets became so densely choked that the Humvees were unable to move, air support would not be able to clear the zone. If air support was unable to do its job, then escape could get complicated. Every soldier had heard the stories about convoys being bogged down by dense hordes of undead for days and weeks. Sometimes, survivors of destroyed convoys would trickle into DDCs or fight their way back to the naval base. There they would recount their tales of harrowing survival while lamenting the men and women they were forced to leave behind. Other times, entire convoys would cease communication and simply never be heard from again. Broken down Humvees were occasionally found abandoned throughout the city containing ominous clues as to the fates of their crews

  “Damn… look at all of them…” Private Barona gasped. “I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

  “They’re attracted to the commotion.” Carl responded. “If we stayed here long enough, we’d have every ghoul in the city on top of us.”

  “How many?” Private Barona asked. A rotted face pressed itself up against the passenger side window and the Private casually rolled the window down a few inches. As the ghoul leered at him, he placed his pistol against its head and fired.