Rotter Apocalypse (7 page)

Snake rubbed his calloused hand across Doreen’s cheek. She tried not to focus on his face. She didn’t know what repulsed her more, the greasy dark hair, the three-day growth of stubble, or the tattoo of a rattler than ran from one cheek, over his forehead, and down the other. When he leaned forward, Doreen almost gagged. Between his diseased gums and the front teeth rotted away by habitual crack use, his breath smelled as bad as a rotter. Like Sandy and Sergeant Batchelder to her right, she rested on her knees, her ass sitting on her ankles and her wrists handcuffed behind her back, which allowed Snake to tower over her.

“You’re the prettiest hostage we’ve ever had in here.” Snake slid his grimy fingers through her long red hair.

“You say that to all of them,” said Snake’s partner, One Eye, from the doorway. He stood in the opening, his AR-15 slung over his shoulder, his patched-over left eye facing them as he kept watch down the hall.

“This time I mean it.”

One Eye chuckled. “You say that to them, too.”

“Come on, baby,” said Snake. “How about giving me some before the transfer?”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s what I had in mind.” Snake clutched her hair and yanked, raising Doreen onto her knees, her face inches from his crotch.

One Eye moved away from the door and unslung his AR-15. Coming up behind Snake, he slammed the stock between his shoulder blades. “Cut that fuckin’ shit out.”

“Screw you. I’m just having some fun.”

“You know the rules.” One Eye shoved his face into Snake’s, shifting his head slightly to one side so his good eye locked onto Snake’s. “None of the hostages are to be harmed in any way. That was the deal with the Rock. We send back damaged goods, and they stop paying ransom. You want to fuck up this arrangement on the Boss, go ahead. Let him break your legs and throw you out of the compound so the deaders can get you. I ain’t gonna be deader food so you can get your rocks off. Clear?”

Snake averted his gaze. “Yeah.”

“Good.” One Eye stepped back. “Now, guard the door. I’m going to the loading dock to see what the holdup is.”

As Snake walked away, Doreen sat on her ankles. She glanced over at Sandy and Sarge to see how they were doing. Sarge made eye contact and nodded his approval. Sandy winked. The three of them had held up pretty well considering they had been hostages for two days.

It began during the escape from the rotters on the Golden Gate Bridge. They had been ahead of the others when the living dead swarmed the group. Sarge ordered them to keep moving forward, telling them that was what Pandelosi would be ordering the others to do. They made it to the banks of San Francisco without incident only to be ambushed by five members of the Deader gang. Their captors disarmed them and brought them to an apartment complex a mile south of the bridge off of Baker Beach. The complex had been fortified with a makeshift wall of Jersey barriers and chain link fences, with an old school bus parked across the entranceway serving as a gate. They had been escorted to a windowless room in the basement and had remained there until an hour ago. No one had bothered them during the duration of their captivity, at least until now, which had suited Doreen fine. The only contact came from those who had brought them their breakfast and dinner, and then Snake and One Eye who had arrived an hour ago to prep them for the transfer. With luck, they would be out of here in a few minutes.

*  *  *

Natalie crouched in the back of the tractor trailer by the sliding door, holding the M-16A2 in her hands and placing the stock on the floor to steady herself. Ari, Amy, Stephanie, and Josephine gathered around her, in addition to one hundred soldiers from Alcatraz who had been inoculated with the Zombie Virus vaccine.

The voice of Jim, the truck driver, crackled over their headphones. “We just pulled onto Lincoln Boulevard. We should be at the Deader’s compound in a few minutes.”

Beside Natalie, Captain Endo, the platoon leader, spoke into his microphone. “Copy that.”

The soldiers readied their weapons. Each of the Angels had a look of determination on their face, although Natalie could detect traces of fear in their eyes. She understood their trepidation because she felt it, too. They were used to battling rotters. This would be the first time they would go into combat against humans. Thankfully for the Angels, the plan to attack the compound was simple. These prisoner exchanges had gone on for so long that security had become lax. In the beginning, the Deaders had examined every truck before allowing it inside the compound. Since Fogel hadn’t wanted to do anything to endanger the hostages’ safety, he had never used the transfers to launch a rescue mission, and over time the procedure had become so commonplace that the gang stopped checking the trailers. Endo planned on using that trust to his advantage. Once inside the compound, the unit would secure the area, take down the Deaders, and rescue their missing people.

The truck slowed, turned left, and rolled to a stop. They all listened to the conversation over their headphones.

“Hey, man. It’s good to see you again.”

“Thanks,” said Jim. “How’s your deader situation been?”

“The motherfuckers have been all riled up after the commotion on the bridge. What happened out there?”

“Some survivors coming in from Oakland got into a gunfight with them and shot up a propane truck. Blew out the center span in the process.”

“Fuck.”

“Tell me about it. The deaders in our section are still stirred up,” said Jim.

“I hear you. Let’s get this over with so we can get you on your way.” The voice changed in pitch. “Open up the gat—”

“Wait,” ordered another voice with a Puerto Rican accent. “The Boss wants us to inspect the truck before bringing it onto the compound. He’s jittery after what happened on the bridge. Is it unlocked?”

“I think so,” Jim replied, a hesitancy in his voice.

“Hang on while I check it out,” said the man with the Puerto Rican accent. “You guys come with me.”

Natalie looked to Endo for guidance. He and the soldiers along the rear row had already raised their weapons into firing position and trained them on the sliding door. She heard footsteps walking down the length of the trailer, followed by the sound of the locking device being unhitched and swung to the side. A second later, the door slid up. The three faces that stared at them registered a brief moment of shock before a fusillade of gunfire tore through their heads and upper torsos. The bodies had not even hit the pavement before Endo and his men poured out of the truck and spread out, laying down suppressing fire. Natalie raced forward and jumped off when all Hell broke loose.

Automatic weapons raked the front end of the truck and the flanks where Endo’s men tried to deploy. The soldiers dropped to the ground, some taken down by return fire, most going prone to present a smaller target. Bullets punched through the thin metal container, thudding into the first few rows of troops packed against the front wall and transforming the inside into a charnel house as chunks of bodies and spent rounds ricocheted off the walls. A stream of weapons fire slammed into the rear corner of the truck beside Natalie’s head, showering her with wood splinters. She ducked under the trailer. From the two-story apartment complex off to the left, more than a dozen gang members fired from the windows or from the flat roof. While a few engaged Endo’s troops, most concentrated on the left corner at the rear of the truck, shooting those trying to get off. The same thing was happening on the right. After the first eleven soldiers fell, the rest clustered around the end of the trailer. The troops still inside the truck, exposed and unable to get out, screamed frantically for the others to move.

A heavy staccato drumming cut through the din of battle. A line of bullets walked their way along the left flank, kicking up geysers of dirt or, when one struck a human, vomiting up a cloud of blood from the wound. One round slammed into Endo’s face, blowing out the rear portion of his head. The heavy gunfire paused for only a moment before resuming, this time directed at the left side of the trailer. The bullets punched their way through the metal as if it was tissue paper and ripped apart the troops still trapped inside. They pulled the bodies of their dead buddies on top of them as protection against the slaughter. Natalie searched for the next in command. Anyone on either flank who tried to take charge didn’t live long enough to give more than one or two orders. Those sheltering inside and behind the trailer seemed more concerned about surviving the next few seconds.

From the back of the truck, Josephine cried out and tumbled onto the driveway, holding her left shoulder. A tear ran across her uniform, and blood seeped through the material.

“How bad were you hit?” Natalie asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s fatal.”

Natalie knelt down behind Josephine and checked the wound. An abrasion five inches long ran from the tip of her shoulder blade toward the spine. The bullet had not punctured the skin, but instead tore a gash across the surface half an inch deep, exposing the muscle beneath. Though it would hurt like a son of a bitch, Josephine would live—provided they could get out from behind the truck.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ!” screamed the private standing behind her.

“They’ve got a fucking .50 caliber,” called out another soldier from inside the trailer.

“Where the fuck did they get a .50?” yelled a third.

“Cut the shit,” ordered Natalie. She saw a corporal crouched three feet away who did not seem on the verge of panic. He had the name BROWN stitched onto his uniform nameplate. “Do you have any rocket launchers?”

“We have SMAWs,” said Brown. “They’re shoulder-launched assault weapons.”

“Get them up here now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ari moved up to Natalie. “What are you planning on doing?”

“I’m going to get us out of this slaughterhouse,” Natalie stated resolutely. “Are you with me?”

The face that stared back bordered on panic, yet the eyes showed trust. “Of course.”

“Wait here.”

Still crouching, Natalie made her way to the right side of the truck. Machinegun fire came from the balcony window of a second-floor apartment. Another seven or eight gang members shot at them from various locations inside the building and on the roof. Two of Endo’s men had advanced as far as the perimeter wall, a makeshift structure composed of three Jersey barriers stacked on top of each other, where they were pinned down.

Brown knelt beside her. “We’re ready.”

“How many SMAWs do you have?”

“Six.”

“Put three on each side. The machinegun is in the second window from the left on the top floor. I need half a dozen of your men to provide cover fire. Do you have smoke grenades?”

“Yes, ma’am. But….” Brown motioned toward the dead troops on either side of the truck.

“We’ll we have to do without it.”

“No offense, ma’am. I should lead this attack.”

Natalie shook her head. “Once we take out that machinegun, you’re leading the charge on the front gate.”

“Hoo-ah,” said Brown. He barked orders to the rest of the troops, and then focused back on Natalie. “On your order, ma’am.”

Natalie waited until the fire from the machinegun paused. She prayed they were reloading and not waiting for a target of opportunity. “Now!”

Natalie dashed out from behind the truck and ran to the right, her M-16A2 trained on the apartment building. Automatic weapons fire came at her. Nothing from the .50 caliber. When the others joined her, enemy gunfire tapered off as the defenders sought cover. The two-man teams carrying the SMAWs deployed. One of the weapons operators dropped to his right knee, raised the multipurpose assault weapon to his shoulder, aimed at the roof where a gang member reloaded, and fired. Natalie heard a swoosh and followed the trail of white smoke as it struck the building beneath the gang member. The rocket punched its way through the wall and exploded inside the apartment, blasting a hole through the roof. Body parts and blood mixed with black smoke and tile. Rockets from the other two SMAW-equipped soldiers struck the corner of the building, one entering through the balcony doors where the machinegun nest stood, the other slamming into the wall beside the bedroom window to its left. The simultaneous explosions gutted the apartment, and two fireballs burst through the window casings. The machinegun was ejected from the apartment and fell to the ground. Three explosions on the other side of the trailer told her that the gang members there had met a similar fate. The teams’ ammo bearers had already reloaded the SMAWs with more high explosive rockets.

“Move it! Move it!” ordered Brown, standing behind the trailer and waving everyone out.

Those who had survived the initial onslaught jumped off the back of the truck and swarmed the wall and front gate, shooting at anything that moved. A lanky soldier with a red beard crawled up into the cab, pulled out Jim’s body, and took his place. Shifting into gear, he headed up the entry road. Gunfire erupted from the school bus blocking the entrance, slamming into the front of the truck. A rocket from one of the SMAWs punched its way into the bus and exploded. The truck shoved the burning vehicle away from the wall and into the parking lot. Taking advantage of the breach, the soldiers rushed the gate.