Medora Wars (29 page)

As the ground hummed with vibration, the officers told the units to advance at dawn, as they could now see the back edge of the horde pushing farther north into the U.S. border at the other end of the city. The soldiers stretched their legs, and the tanks sprung into life as early sunlight stretched through the battered neighborhoods. As they advanced, flooding through the streets, some men at the frontline saw the crowds of the horde at the far end of an open park. The infected moved in parallel lines to each other, running in concise rows that cycled up into the horde like a clan of penguins in the arctic trying to stay warm.

Thousands of troops marched into the large park with a row of tanks behind them. Several soldiers set up mortars and ground machine guns in the muddied field, as the senior officers directed specific units into varying patterns as they prepared to attack. The horde continued to push north, away from the league of soldiers that was lining up behind them. The men and women eased themselves into the routine of war, suddenly not so fearful of the mindless movements of the infected mothers, fathers, and children before them. They laughed within themselves, feeling ridiculous at the fear that set with them throughout the previous night.

It wasn’t until all the infantry tanks had lined up neatly for an even attack across the horde, and all twenty thousand soldiers had evenly filled the large park, that the reconnaissance Apache helicopters told them to hold off. The dawn light had now slanted enough into the shallow valley that they could finally understand the trap. They would’ve seen it sooner at night with infrared cameras, but the walking dead don’t glow with infrared.

What they didn’t see until daylight was something they didn’t think a horde of the mindless infected was capable of: deception. As the main horde moved northward, there were two flank arms of the horde that moved south around the soldiers. They filed down through the streets, several miles away from the main military assault. The northern horde kept creeping up through the city, drawing in the army from the south as the flanking arms inched closer and closer in on them.

It wasn’t until a row of tanks shot their first rounds into the northern horde that the senior officers told them to stop and to pivot all units in the opposite direction. As the men and woman scrambled, and the tank turrets turned outward, the flanking hordes filed into the park and streets where thousands of soldiers waited. The infected spun in like a swarm of bees, moving swiftly in circular patterns into the soldiers. The horde moved like a spinning cloud of arms and legs, with no one individual moving in a straight line as to avoid a clean shot from the gunfire.

The tanks shot blindly into the crowds, and the soldiers fired from the hip, scattering bullets into the torrent of raw human flesh that broke over them. As they aimed and fired at a plume of infected bodies that moved into their unit, another line of the infected would burst in from another direction, completely overtaking the soldiers. The entire assault force was soon engulfed on all sides by the horde, with no way to back out, and only a wall of millions of the infected north of them. As they were swarmed on all sides, it became clear that the only reasonable attack was to pull all the pins on their grenade belts, and run into the horde. Their kamikaze blasts burst open a pocket of momentary space into which a tank could fire, which would open up even more space. This strategy worked for several minutes within a unit until all the soldiers were spent, leaving just a lone tank that would soon become a prison for its inhabitants to starve in the coming days.

As the devastation in the south overtook the Army, the infected swarmed the western mountains of Juárez, where tens of thousands of ground troops snuck onto the soft dirt toward the city. The horde rose up from the wide valley of the city, and washed down the small dips of the foothills, where the soldiers were stashed. Waves of the horde billowed up from above, drowning the men and women before they could even raise their rifles to shoot. Jet fighters constantly screamed through the sky, dropping pinpoint bombs in the heart of Juárez, now uncertain of their targets.

Finally, at the El Paso border, the horde moved into the assault front in a synchronous lunge of millions of bodies falling onto gunfire and suffocating infantry tanks. They stacked around each tank, heaping up human bodies so quickly that when the tank tried to fire, the bodies dampened the blast, throwing flames into the cockpits and setting its occupants afire. The horde grew in numbers as it went, sensing when it needed recruitments. It would bite down on any given soldier to turn them toward their cause.

The horde pulsated and inched forward; feeling for weakness, timing for attacks, and spewing its converting message of dominion and death toward the New Mexico border.

Chapter Twenty Five: Medora, North Dakota

A single black SUV drove down a wide road. The asphalt had cracked and splintered open. Thousands of dandelion heads poked through. The SUV had to zigzag around stalks of weeds that had grown several feet high during the last two years. The sun draped along long hills that sloped upward toward flat plateaus. Each hill sprawled out down toward the small homes, with colorful layers of rock and sediment that had caked on top of each other over thousands of years. They stood as silent giants over a small deserted town that was blackened out and gutted by the government over two years ago. A barb-wired fence fifteen feet high surrounded the entire town, with small patrol stations established every two miles. Not a soul had stepped into Medora until Mayberry, Novak, and Rambert rolled past a patrol gate as the Army soldiers stared at them in bewilderment.

Mayberry had been holding his tongue for a while, waiting for Rambert to finally say something after the completely silent plane ride into Bismarck. They drove through part of the town that was built to resemble an old western street, with long sidewalks made of wood planks that jetted out from each small store. Charred homes and stores with littered glass scattered throughout the area as they drove. Mayberry rolled his window halfway down and heard only the crackling of glass and pebbles under the tires. There was no movement or sounds from the empty streets.

Novak drove as Mayberry sat uncomfortably in the front passenger seat. He kept trying to catch a glimpse of Rambert’s face from the back seat in the side mirror. Rambert hadn’t said a word since the airport.

“Uh, Mr. President?” Novak said gently, looking at Rambert’s face in the rear view mirror.

“Yes, Mr. Secretary?”

“Sir, I really think we should discuss the reports that we’ve been getting from El Paso.”

“What about them?”

“The horde is on American soil,” Mayberry added.

“Oh that…” Rambert said.

“Are we going to do anything about it?” Novak asked.

“Mr. Secretary, I’m going to leave it in your capable hands for the moment,” Rambert said from behind them.

“But… I can’t…”

“Mr. Secretary, we have much more important matters to take care of here, in Medora.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Novak said.

There was a small pause in the conversation as the SUV turned a corner at a collapsed church. Mayberry then erupted, “Larry! What are we doing? You can’t send three of the most powerful men in the country into an abandoned shit-hole town during the apocalypse of the, of the four horsemen!”

“Mr. Director of the CIA, are you upset?” Rambert replied with a cooled tone. “You’re suddenly so… biblical.”

“Of course, I’m fucking upset! You’re a disgrace, and you’re letting the greatest country that has ever been just wither away right in front of you.” Mayberry turned in his seat and sputtered more words at Rambert, who simply looked back at Mayberry’s frustrated eyes. “You shouldn’t even be the President anyway. You just fell ass-backward into the Presidency by default. What were you, twelfth in line? Can’t believe we have the Secretary of Health just going to let us fall into the hands of a bunch of terrorists.”

“You don’t treat cancer until you find its primary source, Larry. Dr. Stark would’ve probably said something like that. We’re going to find the cancer here.”

“The cancer is in Mexico!” Mayberry yelled.

“Maybe…” Rambert looked away from Mayberry’s gaze and out the window.

Mayberry continued, “And why don’t we have anyone with the CDC here with us, huh? Where are the lab people who are going to collect samples of the virus that we need?”

“They’re coming in right behind us, don’t worry.”

“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to… go,” Mayberry yelled again, turning back in his seat to look out the window at a one-story building that stretched far down the block. The building wouldn’t have been so peculiar if it weren’t draped in a gigantic tent with biohazard signs all over it. “Well, I guess we’re here! Novak, stop the damn car.”

“We’re going to figure it all out soon. If you leave, I will immediately remove you from your position as CIA director,” Rambert said as he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.

“This is insane. We’re not going to find a damn thing in there,” Mayberry said to Novak, who intentionally didn’t make eye contact.

“Novak, stay here and keep your eyes and ears open,” Rambert said as he got out. “Me and Chuck are going to check things out first. You’ll know if I need anything.”

As Mayberry and Rambert left the SUV and walked toward the building, a swift wind blew by them, rattling the hundreds of ropes that tied down the extensive canvases that draped over the entire length of the abandoned research facility.

“It’s strange that I’ve actually never come out here myself,” Rambert said as he took a pocketknife from his suit pocket. “Considering that the entire catastrophe that is the United States, Mexico, Israel, Seoul… now Berlin all started right here. Right behind these walls, and it is behind these walls that we’re finally going to get some answers.”

“Are just me and you really the only ones that are going in there?” Mayberry asked.

“Yes, Chuck, I need your help. And it can only be you.” Rambert walked up to a wall of canvas that hung in front of them and stabbed his pocketknife in, dragging the handle all the way down to the ground. He ripped the hole upward with his hands, creating a wide space for them to pass. “They told me it should still have power.” He put his knife away. “Well, it should have power now that I told them to turn it on.”

They stepped through into a darkened cave in between the canvass and the glass doors of the building. Rambert produced a single key from his pocket, opened the door, and walked into the dark foyer that swirled with dust as he entered. Mayberry reluctantly followed behind as Rambert flipped on a flashlight and searched a nearby wall for a light switch.

“I’m allergic to mold, Larry. I’m going to have a coughing fit in about five minutes.” Mayberry brought his sleeve to his mouth and sneezed.

“Just help me find a light.”

They managed to find a light switch on the wall, which resulted in a few light bulbs popping, and the small sound of something sizzling in a distant part of the building, but a few lights did turn on.

“Hey, look at that it worked.” Rambert put his flashlight away and looked around the receptionist’s desk. The entire floor and every surface were free of any objects but set silently covered in a thick layer of dust. “Well we certainly cleaned up after ourselves after we picked this place apart.”

“Yeah, picked this place a part. Exactly, there’s nothing else to see. What are we doing here?”

“What was it you were saying about Julius Caesar the other day, Chuck?” Rambert asked, walking over to a hallway that led away to a long corridor.

“What are you talking about?” Mayberry asked.

“You know, like a week ago when I brought up something about Caesar, and you said he was a… piece of shit or something to that degree?” Rambert said through squinted eyes.

“Yeah, I didn’t like the warmongering dictator, is there something wrong with that?”

“No, no, not at all.” Rambert sneezed and walked into the hallway. “Let’s go this way.”

“Fine.”

Rambert flipped on more lights as they went, passing by dozens of small administrative offices. He went into one office and opened all the filing cabinets and desk drawers, which were completely empty. There was nothing in the room except furniture.

“I’m telling you, we have everything from this facility locked up at the Pentagon. If you wanted to investigate something, we should’ve just gone there.” Mayberry walked out of the office and stopped in the hallway. “Why do you ask, anyway?” His tone changed from sarcastic to inquisitive.

“Ask what?” Rambert said as they continued walking down the hallway.

“About what I think about Julius Caesar?”

“No reason, you just seem to be a man of… clear cut opinions. I’d be interested to hear more about what you think.”

“Think about what?”

“Oh… politics, global economics, American history, international interdependency, World War Two, native Americans, the New York outbreak, eugenics…”

“Eugenics? What the hell are you talking about?” Mayberry tapped Rambert’s shoulder from behind.

Rambert turned around and looked back at him in the stale light. Mayberry’s face had tightened together like a drumhead. “What?” Rambert said.

“Hey,” Mayberry shrunk his lips together and raised a finger at Rambert, “why are you asking me all this?” He kept this finger high, almost up to Rambert’s eyes.

Rambert gave him a slight smirk, an expression Mayberry had never seen before. “You just seem like an interesting person.”

Mayberry dropped his finger. “Let’s find what you need and get the hell out of here. I don’t want to be your CIA director any more, okay?”

“Hey, hey, don’t be so hasty, jeez.” Rambert walked down the hallway and turned a corner, disappearing from Mayberry’s view.

“I’ve really made a lot of mistakes,” Rambert’s voice echoed down from the hallway. “I only recently realized something about my presidency.”

Mayberry stood silent in the hallway as Rambert’s voice bounced off the walls. For a moment he wanted to run away and leave him behind, to be finally rid of the man. “What’s that?” Mayberry jogged a little down the hallway and caught up with him.

“I’ve tried to return everything to how it was since before the New York outbreak. The recession just… it killed us, and I tried. I tried the same things that worked in the past, but they didn’t make a dent in interest rates and unemployment. You know, I grew up on a farm in Iowa, and there was huge oak tree that was probably fifty years old that started to die.”

“Oh yeah?” Mayberry said, taking his phone out of his pocket and looking down at the screen.

“We tried fertilizing the soil and pruning the branches. We even tried transplanting some roots, but nothing worked. When we finally hacked it down, the entire core of the tree just fell apart and collapsed right in front of my dad and me. The whole thing was rotten, and it didn’t matter what we tried to do, it was going to die. It’s like the country just resists everything we try, not because it wants to, but because it… it’s changed. We’re just so different now. I just wished I had realized it sooner.” He walked slowly, looking in and out of rooms as he passed. “I think we’re in the research wing.” He stopped at a doorway. “What do you think we could’ve done differently, Chuck? What would you have done if you were running things?”

“Um…” Mayberry quickly scrolled through his phone. “Well… I would’ve done most of the same things you did, I guess. You started with trying to fix the basics, and that’s what anyone else would’ve done. Hell it’s what all your advisors told you to do. I would’ve maybe—” His phone rang in his hand. “Oh hang on, this could be important.”

Rambert walked away from Mayberry in the hallway and into a laboratory with rows of workbenches, chemical isolation hoods, and bare counter tops. Above his head, glassware lined the tops of the rows of cabinets that were bolted to the walls. “So this is the origin, ground zero.” He said to himself as he heard Mayberry shouting frantically in the hallway. As he was about to speak to Mayberry, Rambert’s phone also rang with a number that he knew was from Eau Claire. He sighed at the phone, blocked the call, and put it back in his pocket.

“All right, all right, of course I’ll tell him. He’s right here. Yes… no, of course we’re going to leave immediately. Just don’t do anything until you hear from the President.” Mayberry hung up and walked into the lab. Rambert was leaning up against a counter, staring at the floor.

“Larry, Mr. President, I’m afraid a small group from the brotherhood of the Sirr have stormed our depot in Nebraska. They have taken ten hostages and are currently moving throughout the facility.”

Rambert continued staring at the dusty tile and exhaled slowly. “Of course. Of course they did.”

“We need to leave,” Mayberry said collectedly.

“I’ll send Novak.”

“Novak! The guy is totally useless. He’s just sitting in a car right now staring at the dashboard.”

Rambert slowly looked up and pushed a stool toward him. “Sit down, Chuck.”

“What? What’re you doing! We’ve got to get outta here and deal with this situation! Terrorists have our nuclear weapons!” Mayberry’s face reddened as spit flew from his lips. “Why are we even here?”

“Because I couldn’t have gotten you alone in Eau Claire.” Rambert pulled a handgun from under his suit jacket and pointed it at Mayberry’s face.

Mayberry shook his head in disbelief. He was about to speak, but closed his mouth, trying to read Rambert’s face.

“Now, sit down, Chuck.”