The Zone (29 page)

Tanner had gathered up a fair collection of firearms and ammunition other than his standard load-out, and I chose a few handguns and sporting shotguns for distribution to needful parties, selecting cali
bers which were not what I used. They weren’t put in the escape vehicles, but were held for individual issue. Tanner had also gotten some pretty decent tactical radios with ear-pieces and boom mikes so we could communicate; he hadn’t issued them for the bank job, thankfully. The guy was as big a pack-rat as I am, apparently.

I had gone with the M-4 today since I had brought the AR-15 along; I didn’t like alternating so much, but needs must when the devil drives.

We studied the mall once more from the overpass. “OK, four sentries and the survivors are all up on the roof, two groups, ready to extract,” Jake observed, passing the binos to Key.

I was using a spotting scope to study the survivors. “I dunno.”

“What don’t you know?” Jake asked.

“I don’t like the survivors, the way they look.”

“You think they’re infected?”

“No. Just a feeling; maybe its because I don’t like Marvin.” I broke out the phone; Marvin answered on the second ring. “We’re moving into position. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” I explained the change in plans. “We are going to take six per truck; tell your people to stay on the roof. I figure an hour between runs to let the infected calm down, so three runs if everything goes smooth. Got it?”

“The trucks could carry more than six.”

“True, but there’s no pressure on us, so there is no need to take risks. Safe and slow is a lot better than fast and risky.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but we had covered the concept of multiple trips yesterday, and he let it drop. We went over the plan again to insure he had it down before hanging up.

“Time to go?” Key asked, impatient to get this over with.

“Not yet.” I studied the survivors as they split into two groups at the indicated spots. “They are staying low.”

“So the infected don’t see them?” Jake frowned. “But they don’t really look up.”

“Maybe because they know we’re watching.” I did not like this. On the other hand, paranoia is a subtle issue, and one that can get away from you. “Either of you see anything you don’t like, get out.”

When the pair were a half-block away on ground level I idled the truck out onto the overpass and scrambled up the ladder, folding it up after me, feeling very blind. Unfolding the AR-15’s bipod I laid out a half-dozen twenty-round magazines before getting into a comfortable seat on a cushion we had picked up yesterday. I checked the survivors through the scope, then the four sentries, then the entrances to the left.

“One, go,” I said into the radio and then put a round into the skull of the furthest sentry. I dropped the other three before the first truck was in sight, four clean headshots; even if the infected had looked up at the overpass they would not have picked me out of the gear atop the truck. I don’t think the infected in the mall heard the shots, but the point was moot because they heard the trucks a few seconds later. The first couple wandered out the door, probably uncertain because the sentries had not given the cry, and I dropped them, but our margin of surprise lasted about as long as it took the trucks to slide to a stop at the designated points.

I heard Jake yell something as I was firing at the shapes trying to spill out the gaping doorway, aiming center mass with boat-tailed hollow-points, trying for mobility hits to the pelvis to buy time. Risking a glance, I froze: the survivors had thrown weighted sheets of cloth, big ones, over the truck cabs, two people atop each truck anchoring the top end, blinding the driver. A couple others were on top of the truck catching people, kids, and bundles being thrown down.

The bastards weren’t going to let us make three runs-they were going to hold the drivers in place by blinding them, and get everyone loaded.

“Two and Three, turn your wheels one-half turn to the left and roll about thirty feet, two count on the gas-QUICK!” I raved into the radio. The infected were pouring out of the mall, and the cloth would give them handholds to climb. The trucks were all right for extraction if moving, but I doubted the mesh would hold against a mass attack if they were stationary. I caught myself, took a breath, fought the anger and panic down into a hole.

I finished the magazine into the charging infected as the trucks lurched off the sidewalk, slapped in a fresh one, realized how pointless a scoped sight was now, and snapped the M-4’s stock out and the holosight on.

Key had gotten off the sidewalk and crossed the traffic lane until she hit one of the concrete parking barriers; the cloth was still in place, blinding her. Jake had clipped a concrete planter getting off the sidewalk, peeling back the right front fender; the impact or some sense had caused one of the cloth-holders to let go, and he now had half a windshield to work with, although he was having to straddle the center seat like a rural mailman because it was the wrong half. At least he was moving off the parking lot, slower than the infected, but moving all the same.

A couple survivors had fallen when the trucks moved but around five clung to Jake’s truck and about the same to Key’s. My blood ran cold when I saw one atop Key’s prying at the mesh with a crowbar, trying to get access to the truck bed; apparently the idiot didn’t consider that access works both ways.

I fired three shots at the second cloth-holder on Jake’s truck, trying to get close without hitting him, although I wasn’t really worried about it over-much. The moron got the message and let go, giving Jake more visibility. “Two, get out,
fast
. Three, get ready to back, I’ll clear your windshield.”

The infected were swarming both vehicles but Jake had momentum and steadily increasing speed so he was able to plow through them, bouncing over bodies as he headed out of the parking lot.

I thought saw a blood-plume when I fired warning shots at the driver’s side cloth-anchor on Key’s truck, but for whatever reason he let go; Key stomped onto the gas and both anchors crashed onto the hood, bringing the cloth with them. Key slammed into a shopping-cart corral in reverse, punched it into drive and took off down an aisle, but by that time her truck was covered with infected. I was firing at the passenger side and the survivors were flailing away with various blunt objects at the infected clinging to the mesh, but as we had learned the hard way they were extremely motivated.

“Three, get in front of my position and stop!” I yelled, loading the second mag in the bracket.

She had to do a crazy fishtail to manage that, which dumped some bags and possibly a kid off her roof and a couple infected off her sides. She burned rubber slamming on the brakes, and I had an easy time cutting down five off the driver’s side, three off the front or hood, and one coming up over the top. One survivor got jerked off the top by infected on the far side, but that was the least of my concerns.

“Three, loop around and let me get the passenger side,” I opened up on the mob of infected charging across the parking lot, the act of firing calming me a bit.

I was reloading when she slid to a stop in front of me; I dropped the four still hanging on and yelled for her to go just as the mob reached her; I saw one lose three fingers trying to grab and hang on as she spun out. I burned through the thirty rounds in the M-4 and the twenty in the AR-15, getting about thirty-five clean head hits before gathering up my mags and scrambling down to the cab, breathing harder than the physical exertion required. For a second there I thought I was going to be alone again.

Pulling the tactical earplugs, I realized the team phone was vibrating in its pouch, but I ignored it. “Two, Three, status?”

“Two clear and clear.” Jake was safely away and free of infected.

“Three, clear and got one hanging on, no threat.” Key had one infected on board.

“Three and two, meet up at the rally point.” I reloaded both rifles and moved the twin mag bracket to the M-4 before setting off; down below the infected were straggling back into the mall, sentries back in place. Between my shooting and the trucks, I figured we had dropped around fifty infected, all told but it hadn’t made much of a dent in the mob in the parking lot.

The phone had never stopped rattling around, so I finally took it out and hit the green button. I ignored the tinny little voice until Marvin finally paused for breath. “Marvin? You there?”

“You
son of a bitch
!”

“Good luck, Marvin. Call this number again and I’ll set your building on fire.” I punched the red button and dropped the phone back into my vest. I wouldn’t actually carry out my threat, but he wouldn’t know that.

Jake had shot the infected off Key’s truck, and she was standing watch while he pried the damaged fender off his truck. Three survivors sat on the curb under Key’s hostile stare, two men and a woman.

“Everyone OK?” I asked as I dismounted. Everyone was. “Any of these assholes the ones holding the cloth?” None were. “Lucky for you. Stay put.” I walked around to Jake. “Any other damage?”

He paused to mop sweat, leaving a smear of grime. “Alignment’s probably off, but I’m not sure it wasn’t already. Key’s truck took some damage to the mesh, probably from the infected hanging on. I’ll weld on some support straps tonight.”

“OK. We’ll head back to your place and drop off both your trucks.” I slapped him on the shoulder. “Good work out there.”

One of the men was sobbing like a child; the others were glaring at me as I walked up. “That was one stupid plan you had,” I announced without preamble. “I’m guessing you lost at least a dozen of your people, maybe more.”

The young woman spat an obscenity at me.

“Whatever. You tried to get two of my people killed, so you can kiss my ass. From what I saw, a tenth of the infected at your mall are dead or injured.” I pointed out the vehicle keys. “I’m going to leave three weapons a block north of here; you three can head out of the Zone or try to rescue your buddies-I don’t care which. Just stay the hell away from us.”

A block away I dropped off a .38 revolver and two sporting shotguns, one over and under, one pump, both 20 gauge, and a box of shells for each weapon.

Back at the beer distributorship we stowed the cage trucks; I went over the collection of extra weapons and chose a scoped Remington 700 in .270 and a couple boxes of ammo. “Let’s go test out the mad doctor’s invention and get Key situated for sniping.”

Jake drove; he and Key were recovering from the fiasco faster than I was, the resiliency of youth and the lesser burden of a follower. I was older, and the one who had decided to abandon the rest of the survivors in the mall, although ‘decide’ was a strong word. I had come off the overpass shaking with fury and stress and ready to kill someone, but that was fading, leaving only regret.

My target area was the bank where Tanner had met his end. “We’ll test the shotgun and maybe recover some weapons from your former team,” I explained. “If nothing else we’ll waste some infected.”

My plan was simple: Jake drove into the parking lot with Key and me on the roof. Key dropped the sentry and the first four out the door; I tapped her on the knee and leveled the cut-down at the next infected, a husky young guy in a stained business suit who looked pretty healthy. She kept firing at the rest; when the suit got about fifteen feet away I hit him with a load of sea salt, seeing weal’s splash across his face as it hit. He grabbed his face and staggered in a circle, twitching and jerking, finally straightening out and rushing us again. I hit him with another load, and then a third; he lumbered to a stop, limbs twitching, and then collapsed.

Chopping Key’s thigh a bit harder than necessary, I thumbed the last sea salt into the tube magazine and pumped three into a Hispanic man in shirtsleeves and tie, rapid fire being very easy because of the low recoil produced by the low powder charge; he staggered a half dozen feet and collapsed, twitching feebly, finally lying still.

Key dusted the rest while I loaded rock salt and watched the two test subjects, but they didn’t move. Finally I told Key to put a round into the suit’s neck, but there was no blood flow. They were dead.

Since it was my idea, I packed my nose with Vicks, donned a carpenter’s dust mask coated with more Vicks, and goggles, and eased into the bank.

The smell seeped past the barriers and the flies’ humming sounded like a sizeable electric motor. The rain had cooled things off a bit, but in Texas seventy degrees is cool-that is not a temperature that is kind to raw meat.

I found dead team members and recovered Mini-14s, magazines, and P226s in two trips, sending up clouds of flies with each acquisition, and then Jake got the weapons and reserve ammo from the wrecked truck.

We moved a block away because the bank parking lot was pretty ripe, too. “So it worked,” Jake said.

“Sort of, three hits to put one down,” I shrugged. “I have to admit, it was better than I thought. That was sea salt; Ted said it was rock salt that the king used, so we should test it as well.”

“Three for one won’t make any sort of difference,” Key shook her head.

“True, but we’ll try out the rock salt just for completeness-I spent two hours figuring out the loads.”

Ted sounded weary when he answered. “Interesting news, doc.”

“Yes?”

“Sea salt took three hits to put down an infected, but rock salt only took one; it’s a little slower than a load of buckshot to the head, but it definitely works. Before you break out the champagne, I have to tell you that it has limited combat application-the rounds are very short ranged.”

“But they work.”

“Yeah, they do.”

“So you will help me?”

“I’ll take a good look at the situation. The thing is, the campus was a high population density area, and I doubt they had the artifacts out in a glass case in the lobby. I am going to need to know exactly where these things are, and what sort of security I’m going to have to get through. This isn’t exactly a done deal.”

“I understand. I have located several faculty members on line-I’ll see about getting you the information.”

“Good. One of my team is posting the news and the recipe I used to make the shells on the Net; we’ll go recon the campus, and then get about some rescue ops. I’ll call you tonight and see if you have any information for me.”

Just as I expected the campus had a high population of infected; we circled it several times before posting up on the elevated roadway and eyeballing it through binoculars. When I felt we had a good picture I coached Jake and Key in the roles of shooter and spotter. Key burned through the rounds we had brought and once she had the rifle sighted in she did deadly work. The only drawback she had was that the 700’s thinner hunting barrel overheated much faster than my rifle’s thick bull barrel.

We knocked off for lunch and then hit low-velocity rescues because after this morning none of us really felt up to a toe-to-toe slugfest with infected. We were working well as a team, and by eighteen hundred we had emptied the car lot and sent sixty-one people on their way. Our tally of infected was not terribly high, but you take the good with the bad. The thing to remember was that there were fewer infected around than there had been this morning, and fewer potential infected, too. We had even gotten out a dozen elderly who needed oxygen or diabetes meds, too, something I felt very good about.

We hit an electronics store for high-end digital cameras with macro capability and any sort of noisemaker. Although it was a rank business we hit the gun store where the bitter stand had been mounted, getting a case of .270s, twenty cases of 12 gauge, a wide selection of loading equipment, accessories, and supplies, and not incidentally about two hundred expended shotgun shell hulls. We had picked up about four dozen at an abandoned police barricade earlier. We grabbed a collection of ‘give-away’ weapons to hand off to the rescued as well.

I left the pair at the distributorship with a list of ‘to-dos’, not the least of which was figure out how to operate the cameras, and headed home, stopping at my convenience store to refuel and grab a few more twelve-packs of sodas from its much-depleted inventory.

By the time I had off-loaded my new acquisitions, which was becoming a daily event for me, and parked the truck, it was dark out. I walked across the still-warm blacktop, key in my left hand and my right on the M-4’s grip, eyes moving. I was tired, physically and mentally, my knee was irritable but better than on Wednesday, and my major muscle groups were stiff and sore. Despite this I felt good because the rhythm of our work was familiar and comfortable to me: get up, suit up, work a busy shift, run errands, head home-comfort in familiarity. I was back in my pre-House world, and it was nice.

The utilities were still holding, so once I stowed my loot I followed SOP and took a shower followed by washing the clothes I had been wearing. I was too weary for more bad news so I cleaned my weapons without the benefit of the TV, re-filled magazines, and headed up onto the roof with a rack of pork ribs.

Laying back against the slope of my roof while the ribs sizzled, I stared up at the stars, mind empty. I should have been pondering the tactical considerations of a raid into the campus, or working up a more efficient method of extracting survivors, but the fact was I didn’t feel like it. It was eight days since things started getting strange for me, and things were just getting weirder every day. I needed a break.

I wondered if Marvin and what was left of his crew were alive, and if so, where?

The team phone buzzing caught my attention; it was Ted. “Have you checked your e-mail?”

“Nope. I’m on my roof grilling supper.” I flipped the rack of ribs over and shook seasoned salt onto the crispy brown meat.

“So you haven’t seen the news, either?”

“No, I just got home. We spent the rest of the day getting survivors loose and on their way out of the Zone. Over sixty, as a matter of fact. Why?”

“I e-mailed you the information you requested: security data, locations of the objects and books, everything, even a map of the library annex and another of the campus grounds.”

“I took a good look at the campus-its going to be tricky. I honestly don’t know if it can be done.”

“Will you try?”

I poked at the ribs. “Look, I’m tired tonight. Yeah, probably. Tomorrow I’ll take the information you sent and eyeball it again. Thing is, all I’ve got to work with is two kids who were counting credit hours a week ago and a beat-up armored truck. I’m not exactly front line material anymore, myself. If I had a few more people, some better equipment, well, I would have more options. What I’m trying to say is I can’t promise anything.”

“The rock salt-doesn’t that prove anything?”

“Sure. Your theory has moved from crackpot to strange-but-plausible; the thing is that even if I believed in your idea like I believe the sun’s gonna rise tomorrow, its not going to change the tactical situation. I’ve got two kids and a truck, and there’s a lot of infected in the area, and by ‘a lot’ I mean hundreds. This isn’t a rescue where its just a matter of maneuvering the truck and putting out cover fire. We are going to have to enter a building, get your photos, and then get out alive. How valid the ultimate goal is does not change the difficulties in getting to said goal. Let me look at your data, look over the campus again, maybe run a couple tests, and then I’ll know more.”

“Watch the news tonight,” he urged.

“OK. Look, I’ll keep you informed step-by-step.” The phone beeped. “I’m losing battery power-I’ll call you tomorrow.” I made a mental note to try and find another battery for this phone-it didn’t seem to hold a charge for any length of time.

I watched the stars while the ribs got crispy and brown. Going into buildings, close quarter battle, all played to the infected’s strengths. Stealth was possible, but the problem is that covert can cease to be covert in an instant and then you are back to square one. If I had more shooters it would be doable-with more firepower the complexities of indoor operations would hinder the infecteds’ ability to move enough bodies fast enough. But I didn’t have more shooters.

Spending my days pulling out sixty or seventy survivors and dusting maybe a hundred infected wasn’t going to cut it on a strategic level: neither activity was going to significantly affect the odds in the city, although they were pretty damn important to those survivors we extracted. If Ted was on to something, then trying it would be worth the effort. If I could figure out a way.

The hatch securely latched, I settled on the sofa with the rack carved into greasy ribs, a bowl of canned corn and some fresh-baked rolls to hand, I flipped to an episode of the cop drama and consumed my supper watching the linkage between East Coast drug trade and the conditions in the inner city schools. Or at least what the writers imagined those links were, anyway. It made for entertaining TV in any case.

When supper and the episode were over I washed my dishes and checked out Ted’s e-mails; he had done good work-an employee from the university had provided a copious amount of detail, down to floor plans and where the spare keys were kept. On one of the raids to Radio Shack I had grabbed the best printer they had, and I ran off several copies of the floor plans and a quick reference list of points I found to be interesting.