The Gathering Dead (2 page)

The sky overhead was dark with smoke from gigantic fires. South of 14th Street, New York was an inferno, an intentional blaze started by the military in hopes that it would contain the army of the dead and prevent it from advancing north. And in a small measure, it was a successful gamble; even the dead couldn’t soldier on when all their flesh had been burned to a crisp and tendons and ligaments could no longer move muscle and bone. But there were gaps between the fires, gaps filled with soldiers and policemen that were being overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of the walking dead. There were tens of thousands of them in lower Manhattan, and they avoided the flames by using the subway tunnels, by massing at roadblocks in such numbers that they overwhelmed the defenders, and in some instances, by walking into the East and Hudson Rivers and walking upstream. McDaniels had heard reports on his way in that a group of the walking dead had emerged from the East River and was headed for the United Nations building. He had chuckled at that. Finally, something would devour the United Nations before it could envelop the world in leftist glory.

But the fires had also blackened the skies with thick smoke, smoke that was driven northward by the prevailing winds. This had curtailed aviation operations. Even though McDaniels’ convoy had a helicopter escort, it was by sheer chance that the proper flight crew from the 160
^th
Special Operations Aviation Regiment had been in the area and was open to tasking. The pilots flew their small MH-6 Little Bird without doors and usually operated at an altitude of 40 feet above the deck, at night, in all weather, so flying in smoke wasn’t a show stopper for them. For the rest of the aviation community, however, the smoke was thick enough to hamper general aviation missions. That was why the assembly area at Central Park had been set up. VIPs and their dependents were to make it to the Park and, upon identity verification, they would board a helicopter or tiltrotor bound for greener pastures.

That was the idea, anyway. McDaniels looked out the window at the smoke-tinged afternoon and wondered just how many aircraft would wind up burying their noses in the dirt because their pilots couldn’t fly by instruments.

Shapes moved amidst the trees as the Humvee sped up East Drive. McDaniels straightened in his seat and looked out the gore-smudged window, trying to make sense of what he saw. Were those people, or...?

“Holy mother of God,” Gartrell said. “Freaking stiffs in Army BDUs!”

McDaniels felt a deep chill envelop him. “Call it in as a black flag actual. Leary, step on it. We’re out of time.”

“You got it, major.”

Dozens of helicopters of all shapes and sizes had landed in the Great Lawn, from massive CH-47F Chinooks to small, aged OH-58 Kiowas. There were even some MV-22 Ospreys, big tilt rotor aircraft that had been flown in from North Carolina by the US Marine Corps. McDaniels shook his head when he saw the gigantic, odd-looking aircraft. He knew the Osprey was a capricious aircraft, and something of a maintenance nightmare. The saying was the Osprey couldn’t decide if it wanted to be an airplane or a helicopter, so it chose to fail at being both when the chips were down.

As the Humvees drove around the Great Lawn, McDaniels heard sporadic gunfire from the south. While distant, it grew in intensity.

“Sounds like there’s a party going on,” Gartrell said.

“I’m going to switch over to the common net, Gartrell. You stay on our private network and keep an ear open, all right?”

Gartrell nodded. “Roger that.”

McDaniels switched his radio to the common frequency. Whereas the private frequency being monitored by OMEN team was quiet, the common net was a storm of traffic. Most of the transmissions were disjointed and overlapping, as troops in contact frantically tried to give updates or request reinforcements. At the same time, area commanders tried to coordinate troop repositions and fire support for those units that were danger close and had ringside seats to the havoc. McDaniels heard more than a few transmissions ending in agonized screams.

Yep, the world’s going to Hell in a handcart.

McDaniels switched back to the private frequency, which was still blissfully silent. He fidgeted in his seat and looked out the grimy window. It was an early afternoon in October, and the leaves in Central Park were starting their colorful transition. This was the time for horse-drawn carriage rides and lovers strolling hand in hand, while dogs dashed about, chased by small children. That picture had gone out of focus days ago. McDaniels wondered if the Big Apple would ever be able to recover. If it was allowed the chance. While at U.S. Army Special Operations Command, he had overhead some possible plans to deal with the threat in New York City, and some of them consisted of essentially turning Manhattan Island into one giant brazier.

“Terminator Six, this is Rapier, over.”

The voice over the radio jarred McDaniels back to the here and now. He keyed his headset’s push-to-talk button. “Rapier, this is Terminator Six, over.”

“Terminator Six, Rapier. SITREP, over.”

“Rapier, Terminator Six. Package in transit, heading for assembly area ROMEO. We are in the Park, and are no longer in immediate contact with any zeds at this time, over.” McDaniels’ situation report was brief and succinct, just the way the Army brass liked it.

“Terminator Six, Rapier. Roger that, and good work. The Black Hawks are spooling up and will be ready to break deck the second the package is aboard, over.”

Another volley of gunfire caught McDaniels’ attention. Much closer this time. Even thought he couldn’t see any immediate threat, he clicked the fire selector on his M4 from SAFE to SEMI. They were so close to getting out of this shit that if something were to go down, now would be the perfect time.

“Terminator, Rapier. Did you copy that last, over.”

“Rapier, Terminator Six. Roger, good copy across the board. We’ll come back to you when we’re airborne, over.”

“Roger that, Terminator Six. Rapier, out here.”

“Coming up on the assembly area, major,” Gartrell said. “Looks like there’s some serious activity on the far side, which is where ROMEO is.” ROMEO was the two MH-60M Black Hawks that were tasked to transfer Safire, his daughter, McDaniels, Gartrell, and the rest of OMEN Team to MacArthur Airport on Long Island. From there, they would board an Air Force jet and fly to Fort Detrick, Maryland, where McDaniels and Gartrell would escort Doctor Safire to the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases. Once that transaction had been completed, McDaniels didn’t know what lay in store for him. He hoped that being reunited with his family in North Carolina was on the short list.

“How far are we from the ROMEO aircraft?” McDaniels leaned forward and looked through the Humvee’s windshield. Civilians streamed across the road in tight, panicked groups, despite the throng of soldiers and police trying to hold them back. Leary had to slow down to keep from running people over.

“I’d guess about five hundred meters.” Gartrell glanced back at McDaniels. “I know what you’re thinking, major. We should get closer before we try and hoof it.”

“We might not have much of a choice if this doesn’t get under control, first sergeant.” McDaniels pressed his radio button. “Two-Six, this is Six. Get ready to abandon the Humvees. We might have to go the rest of the way on foot, over.”

Keith answered immediately. “Six, Two-Six, roger.”

They stuck with the Humvees for as long as they could, but after having traveled no more than a hundred meters in almost ten minutes, McDaniels decided to dismount. The security situation was clearly deteriorating more quickly than the forces on hand could handle. If they were going to get out of New York City before it fell to the ravenous ghouls that charged through its cold concrete canyons, they would have to leave the comparative safety of the armored Humvees.

“My daughter. I’m not leaving without her,” Safire said obstinately as Leary brought the Humvee to a halt.

“She’s still coming with us, doctor,” McDaniels said. “Now let’s get going.”

The pall of smoke had grown thicker, and it filled McDaniels’ nostrils with a sharp, acrid odor as he flung open the Humvee’s heavy, up-armored door and stepped out into the hazy autumn daylight. Gartrell stepped out from behind him, his Atchisson AA-12 autoshotgun already shouldered and ready. The first sergeant’s head panned from side to side like a tank turret as he took in the sights. While they were safe for the moment, all around them New Yorkers were rushing into the park, thousands of them. The few soldiers they encountered tried to stop them, but the flow of refugees was too great. Just the same, gunfire broke out, and people screamed and whimpered.

“My God, are your people shooting innocent civilians?” Safire asked.

“These aren’t ‘my people’, Doctor Safire. But there’s definitely some shooting going on, but I don’t want to guess at whom.” McDaniels ran a gloved hand over his face, then pulled his goggles over his eyes. The smoke had started to make them burn already.

CW3 Keith rolled up with the rest of his team in tow. In the center of the formation was a tall, raven-haired woman with tanned skin and the biggest green eyes McDaniels thought he had ever seen. She didn’t look much like her father, which was probably a bonus. She looked tense, but not frightened.

“Regina!” Safire called.

Regina Safire hurried toward her father and embraced him immediately. She fairly towered over the stooped scientist, and McDaniels saw there was more to the embrace than just filial piety. The look in Regina’s eyes hardened as she looked around, taking everything in. She was protecting her father as best as she could, and McDaniels had to appreciate her grit.

“We’re ready to roll,” Keith said as he stopped beside McDaniels. “I figure we should keep you, the first sergeant, and the Safires in the center of the formation while the rest of us make up the bleeding edge.” As he spoke, Keith didn’t look at McDaniels or First Sergeant Gartrell. His eyes were cast outward, surveying the chaos that threatened to swallow them up whole. The rest of OMEN Team took up defensive postures with their weapons charged and ready to fire.

McDaniels nodded. “We need to get to the ROMEO aircraft, which Gartrell says are about four hundred meters that way.” He pointed into the hazy day where the collection of aircraft sat. A nearby CH-47 Chinook came alive, its gigantic rotors slowly turning as its turboshaft engines shrieked.

“We shouldn’t wait any longer,” Keith said over the rising din. Without waiting for the major’s agreement, Keith barked orders to the rest of his men. They formed a loose phalanx around the civilians and the two soldiers from Army Special Operations Command, and led the way toward the helicopters.

“I like his can-do attitude,” Gartrell said, half-shouting so McDaniels could hear him over the Chinook. “I also like how he automatically determined that we’re a pair of PUNTS.” PUNTS was the acronym for Personnel of Utterly No Tactical Significance, or more simply, individuals who were of no use operationally. McDaniels shrugged. He was a field grade officer, much higher up the food chain than Keith. But if the solidly-built warrant officer wanted to try and assert his dominance in the middle of the end of the world, McDaniels couldn’t give a damn. He had his own job to do.

“Let’s hit it,” he said, taking one of Wolf Safire’s thin arms in his left hand. Gartrell did the same to Regina, and the two of them tugged their charges along as CW3 Keith and the rest of OMEN Team set out at an aggressive pace. They trotted through the smoke-filled park, shoving people out of their way. Most didn’t protest the harsh treatment, not when they were fighting to get to a helicopter and get out themselves. But one group of toughs—apparently gang-bangers from Harlem—elected to try and go to guns on one of the Special Forces soldiers. The soldiers didn’t hesitate. They killed each gang-banger with headshots.

Because only headshots would keep them from turning into zeds.

“Good God,” Safire groaned, sickened by what he had just witnessed. “With everything that’s going on, do we need to be killing each other as well?”

McDaniels shook the smaller, frailer man. “Snap out of it! Those pricks wanted to kill us and take our guns, and then try and hijack a chopper. No one’s wearing any kid gloves today, Doctor. We might have to kill a lot more people to get out of this.”

“Stop hurting my father!” Regina shouted. She slammed her fist into McDaniels’ upper arm with enough force to hurt, but he favored her with what he hoped was a sufficiently grim smile.

“That’s the spirit,” he said. Her eyes flashed and she drew her hand back to strike again, but then Gartrell jerked her forward.

“Come on, let’s keep moving, miss. You don’t want to fall behind here,” the first sergeant said, his face unreadable behind his big goggles and the boom microphone of his headset.

“Get your—”

Whatever Regina Safire was going to say was swallowed up by the sudden shrieks that erupted from the team’s right. People ran from the trees separating East Drive from the Great Lawn like rabbits spooked from a bush by hunting dogs. And behind them came the walking dead, about forty or fifty of them. Some wore the woodland green battle dress utilities of Army soldiers. They fell upon any civilian they managed to catch and tore into them savagely. Blood glistened in the afternoon sunlight.

“Keith!” McDaniels shouted. “Let’s pick up the pace!”

Keith signaled the rest of the team to run.

The assembly area erupted into pandemonium as the zeds poured into it. They overwhelmed the ground security forces stationed at the perimeter and attacked helicopter crews inside their aircraft. Some of the zombies met rather ignominious fates as they charged headlong into spinning tail rotors, where the vanes slashed them to pieces before fragmenting and whirling through the air. The fusillade of gunfire that met the zombies was ferocious, but it failed to stop those that were not hit in the head. And the gunfire had a secondary effect, as several civilians and other soldiers were cut down in the melee. In a matter of minutes, they would rise again and join the other zeds in their quest for human flesh. It was a cycle the military had been exposed to, but had not had the time to train for.