The Dying of the Light: Interval (43 page)

Be damned if I’m going to have them waiting on the old man
, he thought.

Gaines was waving to rest of the team, in their separate trucks, and triggered his radio. “All right boys, we’re shootin’ fish in a barrel. Close it up and get on up here.”

The other trucks moved in, touching bumper to bumper, and the soldiers inside hauled their gear and themselves out and onto the roofs and cabs. Moving from one vehicle to the next, the last man in the line had just made it up to the roof when the first walkers reached the last car.

“Anderson to Hansen, we are engaged. Report hostile contacts. If any of those folks can shoot, now’s the time to hand ‘em a weapon.”

“Roger that, sir. Already done.”

He looked down at the walkers, then held his own rifle to the ready position. “Fellas, let’s take ‘em down.”

The zombies were wheat before the thresher as the professionals fired round after round into them, but more kept coming. Gaines and his men had drawn the rest of the walkers that hadn’t been summoned by the plane crashing, and there were a
lot
of them.

Hansen’s voice came over the radio. “Captain, we are engaged back at the camp. Estimate ten—” The transmission broke off and there was the sound of a rifle shot, causing Anderson to wince as the shot sounded loud in his earpiece. “Make that eleven hostiles. Shit!” The radio cut off again, but this time, it didn’t come back. Anderson looked down at the mass of walkers below.

They had surrounded the truck, rocking it from side to side as they slammed into it, trying to climb up to the fresh meat so tantalizingly close.
There’s no way we can get down, at least not and live to tell about it.
He looked up, and saw Sergeant Denson looking back at him. The other man had clearly heard the radio call, and they both knew that without reinforcements, the 281 people back at the camp— minus the soldiers—would be walker-bait.

Denson nodded to the older man as he grabbed a fresh mag and snapped it into his rifle, then strapped the gun across his back and drew his sidearm. “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

Anderson had to chuckle at the sight of the huge pistol. “Only you would carry a Desert Eagle as your sidearm, Sergeant.”

Checking the slide and making sure he had one up the pipe, Denson grinned. “Never leave home without it.”

Anderson looked at the soldier one final time. “We can’t come get you.”

“I know that, sir. We’ll push ‘em back. Just keep the rest of ‘em here, and cover me.”

“Sergeant Gaines!” Gaines turned at the call, and Anderson nodded towards Denson. “Give this man some cover.”

Gaines took only a moment to assess the situation, and brought his sniper rifle around to bear, taking up a prone position on the top of the truck, bracing himself against the rocking motion created by the walkers. “Ready when you are, Sergeant.”

Denson glanced over at his men, who’d stopped firing. “What the hell are you doing? Keep ‘em coming at ya!”

One of the men laughed and began firing once more, and the rest followed suit.

He nodded at Anderson, who returned it grimly. “Let’s do this,” said Denson, then backed up to the edge of the truck’s roof opposite the direction of the basecamp. He bounced once, twice, on his heels, then took off at a sprint. “Geronimo!”

He landed hard, just past the final walker, rolling with the force of the impact. The nearby zombies reached for him, moaning, but he got up and began running toward the survivor’s camp, firing nearly point-blank at the walkers who came within reach.

Anderson winced at the crack of the sniper rifle in Gaines’s hands as the head of a walker behind and to the right of Denson exploded.

Denson waved his pistol in the air as a ‘thank you,’ but kept running until he was lost in the jungle.

Gaines fired twice more, both shots decapitating shambling walkers that were following the running sergeant. The rest turned back toward the active noise of the squad on the truck.

It was only a minute or two before Anderson’s radio crackled. “Onsite. Hansen’s down—” There was the crack of a rifle, then a pistol shot. “At least one civ casualty.”
Crack
. “Neutralized.” There were screams, and more rifle shots.

Suddenly, Anderson had no more walkers to shoot. The tangled mess at the base of the truck lay still and unmoving, and he glanced over at Gaines for confirmation. “Targets eliminated, sir,” Gaines said.

“Sergeant Denson, come in,” Anderson radioed.

There was a pause, and then a strained voice answered. “Denson here, sir.”

“What’s your situation?” Anderson pointed to Gaines, and then the vehicles, and lastly to the camp.

Gaines nodded, and the men dropped off the roof. Gaines began shouting orders, and the rest of the men formed up on Anderson as he moved off toward the basecamp.

Anderson reported to Denson, “We’re on our way.”

“The situation is… fluid, sir. Be careful as you approach.”

“Fluid? What?”

“I am no longer in command of the situation, sir.”

“Shit,” said Anderson as he released his radio toggle. “Double time, guys.”

They moved fast through the forest, and soon came upon the basecamp. As they came out of the foliage, there was a gunshot, and Anderson ducked as a round went over his head. He glanced over to see a slim woman, probably Chinese, holding a pistol nearly as big as she was.
But that’s Denson’s.
.

Sergeant Denson was on his knees, next to another man in Army ACUs, who lay still and unmoving on the ground. The other soldiers were nowhere to be seen. The remaining survivors were huddled together, the men protectively surrounding the women.

Eller spoke up, next to him. “I don’t see any walkers—”

Anderson held up a hand for silence as he carefully slung his rifle onto his back. Holding his hands out in front of him, he moved toward the scared scientist. “Miss…” She scrubbed a fist across her eyes, brushing away the tears. Her face was red, and she was covered in blood from the waist down.
Hopefully, it’s not hers, or a walker’s, he thought
.

“Guo. Li Guo.”

“Miss Li, can you put the gun down for me? There are no more walkers to shoot.”

The gun was shaking in her hand, drifting back and forth in front of Denson, whose right hand gripped his bloody left sleeve. He was motionless, doing nothing to provoke her. “No, they are still there. Still here.”

He kept moving toward the Chinese woman, slowly, steadily, not making any sudden gestures. “I promise, Guo. They are gone. Dead. For all time.” He was within just a few feet of her now.

“No! They are coming back. They
always
come back. I have to kill him!” She shoved the gun against Denson’s head, and he winced. “He must die!”

“Guo, it’s my job to kill zombies.
Jiang shi.
Zombie
. They are all dead.”

She looked at him again as he spoke in her language, and trembling, fell into his arms, the gun falling to the ground. She had passed out by the time he laid her on the ground, motioning over a few of the onlookers from the survivors.

Another Chinese woman sat down next to her, propping her up in her lap and speaking to her calmly.

Anderson scooped up the pistol and turned to Denson, who had struggled to his feet.

“Since when do you know Chinese, sir?” the sergeant asked.

“You’d be surprised what I know, Sergeant. Where’s Baronowski? Or is this him?”

Denson shook his head as they looked down at the body on the ground. It had been covered with a now-useless McMurdo jacket. “No, that’s Hansen. Don’t know what happened to Barry.”

Anderson looked up at the survivors. “Did anyone see what happened to the other soldier?” Those who spoke English shook their heads, and Anderson swore softly, activating his radio. “Baronowski, come in.” When there was no answer, he tried again. “Baronowski, dammit, come in!”

“Commander, I saw other soldier, this Baronowski, you say?” Tatiana approached, Fagerhölm at her side. “He went that direction,” she said, pointing to the north. “I tried to help, but he would not let me come. Here is gun I found.” She handed him a pistol, and he noted it was still warm. “I use to kill zombie.” Again she pointed to the north.

Eller spoke up, drawing Anderson’s attention from the tall blonde. “Sir, the trucks are here,” he said, as the delivery truck crashed through the young underbrush, in reverse.

Gaines hopped out and walked back toward the camp, stepping a little faster when Anderson motioned him over.

“Gunny, I need you to take Eller and Lederman here and find Baronowski. Get Ferguson and these two,” he said, pointing to the latecomers. “To start loading as many people in the trucks as you can. He may have been headed north,” he said, pointing the way the Russian had indicated.

“Thanks for the cover, Gunny,” said Denson.

Gaines nodded and began issuing orders, and in a few minutes, the three chosen men moved off to scout once more while the survivors began climbing into the trucks.

“What the hell happened to her?” Anderson said, jerking his chin in the direction of the Chinese woman who’d taken Denson’s gun.

“When I came out of the jungle, one of the walkers was closing in on her, and she was firing a pistol at it—or trying to fire, since the gun was empty. I hit the walker nearly dead center, and the spray got her. Things go a bit wobbly after that, but I think when I turned around to look for other walkers, she hit me over the head with her gun. Next thing I know, I’m on my knees with her pointing my own gun in my face.”

“What was all the business about the walkers not being dead? They’re all gone. None here.”

“That’s not… not exactly true, sir.”

The sergeant took his hand off the wound he’d been covering. Bite marks showed clear through the rent and torn skin and uniform.

“Ah, dammit, Sergeant!”

“I almost made it, sir. I was just coming out of the trees when one came at me out of nowhere. There wasn’t any time… I’ve never seen a walker move so fast, sir.”

“Well… wait, what? How old was it?”

Denson blinked at the question. “Uh, what?”

“The zombie. How old was it? Before it turned.”

“I really don’t…”

“Show me.”

Denson walked the captain over to the spot where he’d come out of the jungle, and kicked at a walker laying on the ground. The handle of a standard-issue combat knife protruded from under the walker’s chin.
This one died fast,
thought Anderson. He noted the age of the body. The girl was in her teens when she turned.
Well, shit. That confirms it
. “It’s not a walker, Sergeant. She’s a runner.”

“Runner, sir?”

“We didn’t see ‘em much before Z-Day, and I was hoping the ones we did see were just random chance. That’s why we never talked about it. It looks like they weren’t, though.” He pointed to the face, the skinny arms, the undeveloped chest. “She was a teenager when she turned. Something about the hormones in the body at that age screws with the prion. Makes them faster, stronger, harder to kill. This one would’ve chased you down.”

“That’s… shit. Now I don’t feel so bad.”

“You shouldn’t, other than the obvious. These things are nasty.” He touched the mic at his throat. “Gunny, we have a confirmed runner sighting.”

“Shit. Roger that, sir.”

“Gaines was one of the only ones to see them, back then. He can handle it.” Anderson sat down on one of the now-empty crates scattered from its previous position as his command table. “This sucks, Sergeant. I’m too old for this shit. No wonder that girl wanted to shoot you.” He scrubbed his hands through his short-cropped hair.
And all of it grey, now,
he thought, apropos of nothing.

“She’d have been right to do so, sir,” said Denson, squatting next to the older man.

Anderson sighed and took out his pistol. “I guess we’d better get it over with.”

“Yes, sir. Sir, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take one of the rifles and see how far I can get.”

“How far you can get?”

“Yes, sir. Maybe take a few of ‘em with me, if I can.” He went quiet and covered up the wound once more as Gaines returned with his men.

Gaines walked up, whispering in the captain’s ear.

“We found Baronowski, sir,” Gaines said, his face emotionless. “Or, at least, what was left of him. And several walkers.”

Anderson shook his head. “He was a good man. Experienced. He knew what he was doing. What the hell happened?”

Gaines shrugged. “He got overwhelmed, it looks like. At least three, possibly four, all at the same time. They’re runners, sir.” He paused, then shook his head. “The weird thing, though…”

“Sergeant?”

“Well, we found another walker, off from the others, on its way toward the camp.”

“Why’s that weird?”

“Barry didn’t hit that one, sir. This one came in after he had passed. It was a pistol, too. But the weird thing is the grouping, sir. Double-tap to the head. And a damn good shot, sir. I doubt I could have done any better. Took a second look before I realized it even
was
a double-tap. They were
that
close.”

Anderson looked over at the Russian, who was moving through the crowd making sure no one was injured. She hadn’t struck him as being very bright, despite her medical training.
I use to kill zombie, she said. With a shot like
that?
I wonder what other sorts of training she’s had?

“Fuck! What the fuck do
you
want?” Anderson asked as Lederman trotted up. His face fell as Anderson’s words hit hard, and the captain sighed, waving a hand in dismissal. “Never mind, sorry. It’s been a shitty day. Report.”

“Good news, sir. We got everyone on the trucks.”

“What? How?” Anderson stood and walked a few paces until he had a clear view, then he laughed, a short, sharp bark. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. We were already up there, after all.” The intrepid survivors had filled the delivery truck, as well as the cabs and beds of the others. Then, those that were left had climbed up on top of the truck, using whatever handholds they could find to keep from being bumped and jostled off.