The Gathering Dead (35 page)

Just across the intersection, the tow truck visibly shuddered. McDaniels heard its diesel engine screaming as if in dire agony as the van dashed through the intersection, its knobbed tires kicking up debris left in the wake of the tow truck’s passage. As it bore down on the bigger rig, the tow truck jolted to a sudden halt. Thick smoke boiled up from beneath its hood.

“Leary, get out of there!” Gartrell said over the radio.

As the van bore down on the tow truck, the zombies swarmed all over it, smashing at the doors and windows with their hands, as lethal as Great White sharks in a feeding frenzy. As the van drew nearer, they heard gunfire as Leary frantically sought to defend himself. Several of the zombies turned at the sound of the oncoming van, and they threw themselves at it, grabbing onto the brush bar assembly covering its grille.

“Help me help me help me!” Leary screamed over the radio.

A zombie, then another and another appeared outside McDaniels’ window, pounding on it with their hands and their heads as they hurled themselves against the door. McDaniels leaned away from the window and pulled his pistol. More zombies tried to reach for Finelly, their clawed fingers scrabbling across the smooth glass.

“We have to do something!” Rittenour said, the terror in his voice plain and clear to everyone.

“Drive!” Safire shouted at Finelly, suddenly animated now that the only thing separating them from certain, gruesome death was a collection of glass and metal that now seemed far too insubstantial. “Just
drive!
”

“Do it, Finelly,” McDaniels said quietly.

Finelly made a strangled sound in his throat and goosed the accelerator. The van bulled through the collection of ghouls, mowing several of them down. As it pulled abreast of the tow truck, the mass of the dead succeeded in finally ripping open the driver’s door. Leary was hauled out by scores of unfeeling hands and thrown screaming to the pavement. McDaniels looked on, totally horrified as Leary’s screams came across the radio.

The horde descended upon him like a feral pack, tearing into him with teeth and fingers, his microphone dutifully transmitting every sound of his death.

“Fucking Christ,” Rittenour said from the back, his voice a near sob. “Fucking Christ, I’ve known that guy for five years—!”

“
Go!
” Regina screamed suddenly, and she slammed her fists into the back of Finelly’s seat, her voice taut and ragged. “Stop waiting, or we’re going to
die
here! Go!”

Finelly needed no further prompting. He mashed the accelerator to the floor, and the van sped down the street.

Hassle and the rest of the bridge crew silently watched as the soldier was hauled from the tow truck. He disappeared from view, and neither the FLIR systems nor the night vision binoculars had enough fidelity to show every detail of his demise, but everyone on the deck knew what was happening. They heard it all on the radio.

The man was torn apart and devoured.

“Dear sweet Jesus,” Sullivan said, his voice barely a whisper as he watched the FLIR display. Hassle could only nod. There simply wasn’t anything that could be said.

“The van is moving again, sir,” the port lookout reported. Even though the young guardsman saw everything through his night vision binoculars, his voice was flat and neutral. Solid stuff, this one.

Hassle tore his eyes away from the screen. “Weaps, let’s light those things up and try to clear a path for those people.”

“Aye, sir.” The weapons officer spoke into the intercom and ordered all weapons to prepare to fire. Hassle turned to the communications engineer.

“Comms, contact the LEDET and tell them we’re going to fire on the zombies. They’re to keep their heads down and wait until we let up before they proceed to the shoreline.”

“Contact LEDET and inform them we’re going weapons hot and hold their pos until we let up. Aye aye, sir.”

“All weapons ready, sir,” the weapons officer said.

“Fire for effect,” Hassle ordered.

A moment later, the night was further torn asunder as the
Escanaba
’s firepower joined that of the artillery barrage to the north.

###

The van approached the intersection of East 80th Street and East End Avenue. It was choked with traffic, just like all the other intersections had been. As the van rolled on, McDaniels tried to think of a good tactical plan. How would they get through the intersection with the van?

The answer was not comforting.
We don’t.

“Terminator, this is
Escanaba
. We’re firing on targets now, over.”

A bright, sparking explosion from up ahead momentarily overwhelmed McDaniels’ night vision goggles. It did the same for Finelly, who swore under his breath and slowed the van slightly. Any zombies in the area turned toward the raucous din. The explosion’s flash lit their slack faces and made their dull, stupid, lifeless eyes gleam for an instant. As McDaniels’ NVGs cleared, he saw fainter, but more constant flashes from the Coast Guard cutter holding station in the middle of the East River. Muzzle flashes, and big ones, too. Then another sparking explosion blossomed into being at the very end of the street. Zombies were framed against the sudden illumination. Hundreds of them.

“Major, we’re not going to be able to make it across that intersection in this thing,” Finelly said, pointing out the obvious for everyone.

“I know that,” McDaniels said. He scanned the street ahead, from left to right. It was—had been—a very tony residential area, with high-end apartment buildings lining both sides of the street. Scaffolding covered the majority of the left side of the street, as the facades on a block of buildings had been receiving face lifts before the zombie terror struck. The right side was clear, unobstructed.

“But it doesn’t really matter.” Safire’s voice sounded weary. “Right across East End Avenue, there’s a dead end, which we have to deal with whether the intersection is clear or not. Then we have to cross the East River Drive. There’s at least a ten foot drop off separating the south-and northbound lanes. And then, we would have to get across the northbound lanes and wait to be picked up by the Coast Guard.”

“Doesn’t sound like you have much faith, doctor,” McDaniels said.

Safire had nothing to say.

McDaniels pointed out the windshield. “Finelly, I want you to coast to a stop right there, where that mailbox is… see it?”

“I see it,” the big soldier said.

“Rittenour, how are you doing back there?” McDaniels asked.

“Feeling kind of out of it, major. And this bite is really bugging the hell out of me.”

“One more run, and then we’re out of here. Finelly, how’s the leg?”

Finelly shrugged as he guided the van toward the left curb. “It hurts, but I’m not staying here, sir.”

“Very well. All right folks, we’re going to have to make the last 400 feet or so on foot, which means we run like hell. Everyone gets a partner: Safire, you’re with me. Regina, you’re with Finelly. Earl, you’re with Rittenour. Zoe, First Sergeant Gartrell will take care of you.”

“I want to stay with my daddy,” Zoe said quietly, her voice small and childlike.

“He won’t be far from you, hon. We’ll make sure nothing happens to either of you, all right?” That was a total lie. McDaniels knew that if the shit has going to hit the fan any harder than it already had, then he would heft Wolf Safire over one shoulder and run straight for the river. They were out of time, and the mission had to be completed. Had to be.

“Anyone have any issues with their assignments? Shooters, are you ready? I want smoke dropped behind us the second we stop and dismount. Everyone stay with their partner, and we move together, shooters on the outside, civilians on the inside. Civilians, grab on to our belts. Shooters, leave everything that you can’t use in a fight. If we can’t make it to the boat, we’re not going to need it anyway.”

There was a muted chorus of hooahs from the soldiers, and McDaniels heard Gartrell and Rittenour shrug out of their heavy packs. Gartrell tapped him on the shoulder with something hard, metallic. McDaniels turned, and saw three magazines of nine millimeter in his hand.

“They were Derwitz’s,” he said. “You’d better take them. Also have some more pistol ammo for you as well.” Gartrell handed over another three magazines, and McDaniels pocketed them.

The van glided to a halt, and Finelly slammed it into gear.

“Let’s go,” McDaniels said, and he snapped the door open and jumped out into the night.

The rain had stopped completely some time ago, and now the wind was abating. Overhead, the clouds thinned, and McDaniels saw the spectral halo of the moon. He reached behind him and yanked open the van’s side door. Gartrell emerged, and behind him, Wolf Safire regarded the dark street beyond with blinking eyes. McDaniels reached in and grabbed his arm as Finelly hobbled around the van’s battered and bloodied grille. Safire stepped out into the night, his head snapping this way and that like a bird’s. Nearby zombies shuffled along, their attention focused mostly on the ship in the river as it fired on the shoreline. That wouldn’t last for long, McDaniels knew. He was eager to get going, but he waited for Regina to get situated with Finelly and Zoe to be parted from her father by Gartrell. Everyone worked silently. No words were spoken. It didn’t take very long for the group to get organized. McDaniels nodded once and led them toward the sidewalk that was covered by the scaffolding and blue-painted plywood. It was quite dark under the scaffolding’s cover, and he intended to use the darkness to their advantage.

As he walked, he contacted the
Escanaba
and informed the Coast Guardsman on the other side what the plan was.

“Got that, major. The captain says he’ll halt the attack the second you give the word.”

“Roger that. Six out.” Behind him, Safire shuffled along, his fingers wrapped around McDaniels’ belt. McDaniels panned his head from left to right and back again at regular intervals, as the NVGs had only a 40 degree field of view. This was the only way to avoid developing tunnel vision and remain aware of what was going on around them in the big picture.

As McDaniels led Safire toward the corner of 80th and East End, a zed shuffled around the corner and moved toward them. Through his goggles, McDaniels saw the ghoul was unaware of their approach; its face registered none of the usual excitement they exhibited whenever the opportunity to feed presented itself, and its eyes were mostly fixed on a point somewhere in infinity. It tottered toward them, dragging one foot behind the other, its jeans and denim shirt speckled with black droplets. Blood. McDaniels took a deep breath and raised his rifle to his shoulder. Not for the first time, he wished the suppressor at the end of the MP5’s barrel worked exactly like they were supposed to in the movies: a gentle spitting sound, and then the zombie would simply collapse into a heap. None of the other ghouls surrounding them would ever know a thing. Unfortunately, it didn’t work that way.

More ghouls milled about in the street, slowly walking toward the pyrotechnics caused by the
Escanaba
’s barrage. McDaniels quietly spoke into his headset’s boom microphone.

“
Escanaba
, Terminator Six… I need you to start hitting the intersection with your big guns, can you do that? We’re about twenty meters west of it, over.”

“Terminator,
Escanaba
. We can shift fires that way, but we need to reposition the boat. In the meantime, you’d better fall back, over.”

“No time,
Escanaba
.” The zombie approaching the group stopped suddenly. It moaned and shambled toward them as quickly as its stiff legs could carry it. Other stenches in the street turned toward the sound, their interest obviously piqued. Behind him, McDaniels heard the rest of the soldiers raise their weapons and prepare to engage. Safire’s grip tightened on McDaniels’ belt.

“We need that to happen right now,
Escanaba
, or we’re dead. Six out.” McDaniels raised his MP5 and sighted on the zed hurrying toward him. It moaned again, its hands outstretched, fingers wiggling as it groped about in the darkness, searching for the human it knew was nearby.

Crack!
The zombie’s head exploded when McDaniels fired. It collapsed to the sidewalk, twitched once, then lay still.

That was all it took. The rest of the ghouls surged toward the group, moaning and shrieking like banshees.

“Fight’s on!” Gartrell said, and the roar of his AA-12 drowned out the ululations of the dead.

###

“Conn, let us drift backwards about fifty yards so the 76 can service the targets!” Hassle ordered.

“Aye sir!” said the helmsman, and he dropped the
Escanaba
’s big diesel engines into idle. The current did its job, and the 270-foot cutter lazily drifted out of its station keeping position, gently rolling from side to side despite the stabilizer fins that were supposed to keep the vessel steady even in heavy seas.

“Weaps, let us know when you can put steel on target,” Hassle said. “And notify the gunners that the .50 should maintain its firing pattern!” he added when the big machinegun on the port side of the ship fell silent, likely in response to the vessel’s sudden relocation. The command was given, and the .50 started up again, firing into the night, raking across the zeds standing along the shoreline. The .50 caliber rounds made short work of the targets, blasting them into chunks of disassociated necrotic flesh.

“Ready for firing!” weaps reported.

“You’re clear to fire. Do it!” Hassle said as the
Escanaba
’s engines growled back to life, holding the vessel steady in its new position.

###

“This isn’t my idea of a hot date!” Gartrell said as he blazed away at the approaching mass of ghouls, dropping them to the street as quickly as the AA-12 could fire. The other soldiers poured it on, hitting zombies in the head, adding their again lifeless bodies to the pile that grew around the group.

“Continue the advance!” McDaniels said. “We can’t get trapped here. Form up on me!” As he spoke, McDaniels moved, blasting a path through the zombies that approached him on the sidewalk. Safire moved with him, whimpering beneath the gunshots and the cries of the dead, his hand clenched around McDaniels’ belt. Gartrell and Rittenour stayed on the outside, blazing away at the zeds that approached them from the street, dropping them as quickly as possible. Finelly played rear guard, using his own MP5 to secure the rear. He stumbled over the corpses left lying on the sidewalk, and narrowly avoided the clutches of a ghoul that managed to get past Gartrell and Rittenour. He shot it in the face at point-blank range, blasting skull and dead brain matter all over the blue scaffolding.