AB (The Blake Reynolds Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

“Any non-infected
person caught by the AB army is either immediately killed on the spot or taken
to a makeshift area where they are forced to fight like gladiators against some
of the more psychotic ABs to the death. We have even had a few reports of
uninfected people being processed like cattle for meat. The reason that I tell
you this is to let you know what we are up against. From what I hear we are
facing an enemy that is much better organized and more intent on wiping us out.
Probably due to the large numbers of military officers that were infected and
escaped.”

Blake took a
deep breath. What he just heard brought back memories of what he had already
witnessed.

“We are losing
men and women every day just trying to hold our ground. Most encounters, we
come out on top, but for every two or three of them that we kill, they kill one
or two of us. At this point, it has become a battle of attrition.”

The lieutenant’s
neck veins were now sticking out, and his breath was extremely short. “The
reason that I tell you this is that even one soldier makes a difference here.
Maybe the difference of whether there will be any normal humans left in San
Diego. So you better be damn sure that this private will make a difference for
the final solution because he is making a difference here.”

Blake and Munns
looked at each other and could sympathize with him. They had been through a lot
of the same themselves.

Blake stood and
walked to the head of the table and put his hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder.
“We all understand how you feel; we’ve been there. I’m sure Command knows what
they are asking, and being soldiers, we follow orders. Also, if this works,
think of all the lives that will be saved. If it doesn’t, in the long run, then
does it really matter?”

The lieutenant
stared at Blake for an instant and nodded his head. He turned and grabbed a
map.

Larson pointed
to the center of the map. “Ensign James is in this area,” he said as he pointed
to the area around the ballpark. “His platoon and a couple of dozen civilians
are in charge of covering the intersection of Harbor Drive and Park Boulevard.
They are at the point of the defensive perimeter on the south side. If it
falls, we could lose the whole south section. The officer in charge is First
Lieutenant Western.”

Larson
scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Blake. “Give him this,
and you will get your man. Communications are kind of spotty, but he has set up
a command post in the executive suite at the ballpark. You should be able to
find him there.”

Larson called
for one of the SEALs standing guard outside of the door to come in. “Private
Miller, I need to you drive these men to the ballpark to Lieutenant Western’s
post and then return them back here once they have retrieved Ensign James.”

Miller saluted,
and they left the room and made their way out to where several vehicles were
parked.

The seven of
them piled into the
M-1126 Infantry Carrier
Vehicle.
Blake sat in the front with the private, and the other
five found seats in the back. On the way down, the private turned to Blake. “Are
you seeing much action up north?”

“Things are
different up there. At first, the fighting was intense, just like here. But now
the ABs in the San Clemente region seem to be gathering to a central location
and are building something. We haven’t been able to determine what that is yet.”

The private chuckled,
shaking his head. “You guys are lucky then. Every day down here, we are hit
with attacks. They don’t like to fight at night, but during the day they always
strike. We don’t get hit from the north or east as much anymore, but the
southern perimeter is extremely hot. I hope you like to fight because the last
report we received said the enemy was amassing a large number of troops for a
massive strike today.”

Blake nodded,
and the rest of the ride was passed in silence. It only took a few minutes
before they approached the ballpark. As they drove closer, small arms fire
could be heard ahead. As they stopped, the sound of a 50-caliber machine gun blasted
from the other side of the ballpark. As the rear door to the carrier vehicle
was lowered, bullets ricocheted off the side of the transport. All the men
sprinted from the truck and took cover behind some trees outside the entrance.

Blake took a
quick peek around the large tree and barely saw the silhouette of a man. He
thought he was in a Navy uniform, and he was in the parking lot across the
street trying to hide behind a dumpster. Blake almost ordered his men to lay down
some cover fire so they could make their way into the building when a shot rang
out from the top of the stadium. Blake could tell that it had come from a
sniper’s rifle. Blake watched as the figure across the street by the dumpster
hit the ground and blood trickled out from underneath it.

“All clear!” a
voice called from above.

Blake looked up
and gave a wave to the sniper on top of the building, and they sprinted for the
door. Once inside, Blake was surprised to see several civilians heavily armed
roaming the halls. As they walked around the corner, they were met by two drawn
rifles pointed straight at their faces.

“Let me see
your eyes!” the large man in a tight white T-shirt and baseball cap yelled.
Blake held out his arms, and his men followed. Blake slowly placed his gun on
the ground and stepped forward so the man could see his eyes. Once he examined
Blake’s eyes, he lowered his weapon.

Blake quickly
retrieved his rifle and stuck his face in front of the other man’s face. “What
the hell was that all about?”

“Sorry… A
couple days ago, one of those infected bastards came in here dressed in a
military uniform. He was able to sneak in here and kill two close friends of
ours before we took him out. We didn’t recognize you, so we decided it was
better to be safe than sorry.”

Blake backed
off a couple steps and softened his gaze. “Direct me to Lieutenant Western’s
office.”

“I’m not sure
if he is back from patrol, but I will take you to his office,” the shorter
guard replied. They walked down a short hallway and up a small flight of
stairs. As they entered the room at the top of the stairs, it took a few
seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dim light.

A man spun in a
chair on the far side of the room. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

Blake reached
into his pocket and pulled out the paper that had the orders that said Connor
James should be transferred to his command. Lieutenant Western reached out and hastily
read the paper.

“Why in the hell
do the Marines need to pull one of my best SEALs off the front lines where he
is saving lives every day?”

“Why in the
hell can’t this jackass just follow orders and turn him over to us?” Blake
thought. But he thought about how he would feel if someone tried to pull one of
his men off the front lines.

“Someone higher
up believes this Ensign holds the solution to this whole mess. I don’t know
much more than that. My orders are to retrieve him and return him safely to the
main base at Camp Pendleton. And I believe he is supposed to be transferred to a
hospital vessel floating off the coast.”

The Lieutenant
stood and grabbed his rifle off the table. “James is on patrol. He was assigned
to scout the area five blocks west of I-5 for any enemy activity. It is highly
residential, and we have had a lot of activity in that area in the last few
days.” The lieutenant turned and gave Blake and his group a sarcastic grin.
“Are you ready for a little hike?”

“Why don’t you
just radio them?” Blake said, his jaw clasped tight.

“About a week
ago one of those bastards jumped one of our patrols. We killed most of them,
but they did kill one of my men. By the time we were able to get to the body,
he had been stripped clean, including his radio. We think that somehow one of
them is smart enough to monitor our radio transmissions, so now we run silent
communications.”

Blake admired
what the SEALs and the civilians had done at keeping everything west of I-5
clear, but on the other side was another matter.

It was a short five-minute
jog down Imperial Avenue to reach the overpass on I-5. Blake immediately
scanned the area. Every couple of blocks there were light pillars of smoke
rising in the air.

Lieutenant
Western had his field glasses to his eyes scanning the streets in front of them.
“Yeah, we found two kinds of ABs down here. The kind that comes at you at a
full run, hell-bent on tearing your head off. The other kind seems to scurry
like animals into the nearest building. The best way to handle them is to throw
in a couple of grenades into the nearest window. Then you don’t have an AB
problem anymore.”

They were only
on the bridge for a few minutes before the lieutenant spotted his men about a
half-mile east doing a sweep in a grid pattern, clearing the area house to
house. That didn’t seem to worry the lieutenant, but then Blake noticed that
his face suddenly went pale. There appeared to be twenty-five or thirty ABs armed
with clubs, and a few appeared to have guns. They were taking up covered
positions and getting ready to set an ambush for the soldiers, who were walking
straight into it.

“You ready for
a fight? Your man is about to be in hip-deep shit in a couple of minutes!” the
lieutenant said.

“Lead the way.”

The five of
them leaped off the overpass and headed down the road. Blake didn’t hear any
sounds in the air except their boots hitting the pavement and their own heavy
breathing. His heart was pounding as they were a block away from the ambush.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the crack of a single shot. Blake could
tell from the sound that it had come from one of the SEAL’s M-16s. The next
shots came from hunting rifles and small caliber handguns. His ears filled with
the screams from wounded, charging feet and the roar of automatic weapons fire.

The patrol took
cover in an abandoned police station. The officer in charge had been the first
hit. Luckily for him, it was a clean shot through the thigh. Ensign James quickly
applied a bandage and tourniquet to the wound. He then hastily gave him a small
dose of morphine for the pain, but not enough that he couldn’t continue fighting.
The other two took up cover positions by the front windows. They could tell
that the rest of the ABs were coming closer to the building. The officer in
charge ordered James to cover the back of the building. Bullets were still coming
through the windows and striking the walls, causing sheetrock dust to fill the
room.

Blake and Munns
exchanged a glance after examining the police station. Blake looked up at the
roof across the street then back at Munns, and he gave a nod.

Without
speaking, Munns sprinted away. The lieutenant scrunched his eyes in confusion
toward Blake just as bullets flew nearby. The four remaining soldiers took
cover in the doorway of the market behind a large delivery truck parked in
front.

Blake promptly
made a visual assessment of the men. They were behind decent cover at the
moment. “Can anyone make out where that shot came from?” he yelled.

“I think it
came from behind the police station,” the young private who had accompanied the
lieutenant squeaked.

Blake quickly
poked his head out from around the truck and fired a few shots to assess the
south side of the station. Just as he ducked his head back, the truck’s front
headlight shattered from a bullet impact. The glass rained down on Blake’s
helmet, and the sound of gunshots reached them a second later.

The soldiers in
the police station could tell something had changed because they weren’t taking
as much direct fire. The wounded leader hobbled to a barred window on the east
side of the building and couldn’t quite make out the figures behind the truck
across the street. He knew the unmistakable sound of an M-16 and smiled,
knowing that he and his men had help out there.

The AB’s leaders
could see that between the two groups, it was going to be nearly impossible to
make an assault on the front door. All the men carrying guns made their way to
the west side of the building and then to the south door.

The unarmed AB
drones were instructed to attack the front door on their command while the
armed ABs would attack from the back. They grunted sounds of understanding.

Munns set up a
sniper position on the top of the roof and had a large kill-zone on the north
and west sides of the building. The flag on top of the police station showed
that there was almost no wind. On the south, he only had partial visibility.
Not knowing how many enemies there were, he concentrated on the largest group
he could locate. He peered through his scope, and the first AB he found that
was closest to his men was a woman in her early sixties. Her face was contorted,
and her eyes were glossy, which was an indication that she was an AB. She was
wearing a flowered sundress, and for a moment Munns thought of his grandmother.
He shook his head and looked at her again through his gun’s scope. He noticed
that she carried large butcher knives in each hand.

As she moved
closer to Blake and the other soldiers behind the truck, Munns placed the
crosshairs on the scope in the middle of her chest. Holding his breath to
steady his hands, he slowly pulled the trigger. Less than a second later, blood
splattered all over the building behind her.

Suddenly, a
flare on the south side of the building shot high into the air. Seven ABs ran toward
the building Blake was hiding behind, and another eight rushed for the front
door of the police station. Each of the groups was being covered by ABs with hunting
rifles.

For a second,
Blake was surprised with how well the attack had been coordinated. When the
bullets smashed the window above his head and shattered the windshield, he was
instantly refocused on the battle.