These Dead Lands: Immolation (64 page)

Guerra returned to his method of setting up and waiting for faces to appear. He fired regularly and accurately. Every now and then, one of Stilley’s expended cartridges would bounce off his helmet or body armor. He was thankful he’d buttoned up his collar. The last thing he wanted was to have red-hot brass rolling around inside his uniform.

“Hey, this looks familiar,” Reader said as he tossed full mags to the deck between Guerra and Stilley. “It’s the George Washington all over again.”

“What’s going on behind the line?” Guerra asked.

“They’ve got forty guys working on reloads, and the gun trucks are out,” Reader said. “I guess the relief company is doing all the logistics right now while the rest fights.” He tossed another loaded mag onto the pile, and Stilley grabbed it immediately and slapped it into his rifle’s mag well.

“They’re gonna need a lot more than forty guys at this rate,” Guerra said.

“Sergeant G, you want me to keep reloading, or do you want me to get more ammo?” Reader asked.

“Reloads,” Guerra said. “When you’re done, go back and get more cans. Try not to kill anyone, buster.”

“I’ll do my best,” Reader said, “but I’m not really very good at that sort of thing.”

“Your soft skills do suck,” Stilley said.

*

“The fucking fire
is killing us,” Ballantine said, leaning into his rifle as he fired.

“Yeah, it’s not much of a help,” Hastings said as a drone blared past overhead. He was still shooting mostly downward, though he had to pause every now and then until more ammunition was brought up.

The runners were getting tired, and there weren’t enough loaders to keep up with the demand. Soldiers and Guardsmen were on the verge of panic. The smoke had reduced visibility so much that they had to wait until the reekers got close to the container walls to open up on them. Hundreds of bodies were stretched out over the HESCOs and sandbags below. The claymores had done a great job, but they’d had to employ them much earlier than expected. So they were down to shooting the zombies between the eyes.

Hastings blasted a reeker in the head when it turned its colorless face toward him after climbing up on one of the HESCO barriers. The zombie sagged, but to his surprise, it didn’t fall. Instead, it seemed to rise up toward him as if floating on some invisible gas. Then, he realized that it was being borne upward by the press of bodies behind it as they climbed up the HESCOs. A large portion of the reeker horde was hidden behind the acrid smoke. Hastings’s eyes were tearing up inside his mask. The filters just weren’t designed for blocking so much smoke.

He continued firing into the growing mass below. “Carl, this is going to get fucked up pretty quickly,” he said.

“Tell me about it, sir!” Ballantine leaned over the edge of the sandbag wall, firing downward as well.

“Get on that MBITR and call Kay. Have her put Everson on, and give him a direct update on what’s going on,” Hastings said.

“You sure, sir?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll save your place in line.”

*

As soon as
the sirens had gone off and the shooting started, Bill Everson rounded up the rest of the civilians and confined them to the barracks. He handed out all the weapons, helped with last-minute organization of packs and supplies, and posted lookouts on all four corners of the building. The van they had provisioned from the motor pool was parked outside, full of gas and in good running condition. He advised those not on guard duty to take the time to eat, use the latrine, and take care of any last minute items.

“How will we know it’s time to go?” Walker asked. Despite his size and fearsome appearance, the big man looked scared to death.

Kay Ballantine thought it was kind of funny that a man so physically imposing should be the one most frightened. Even her sons were holding up better than Walker. Kenny was even doing fine, despite the noise. As long as the stream of jalapeño cheese spread and crackers kept coming, nothing bothered Kenny, not even wailing sirens and gunfire.

“We wait for Hastings and the others,” Everson told him. “We’ll take our direction from them.”

“Yeah? Well, what if they don’t show up?”

Everson looked at the bigger man, his eyes cold and clear behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Even though the long-haired man was well in his sixties and looked as though he could have been a guitarist for the Grateful Dead, there was nothing soft about him. There was still a Marine beneath the beard, the black Harley-Davidson T-shirt, worn jeans, and scruffy work boots.

“We’ll pay attention to our surroundings, see how things turn out. If things make a big U-turn, we’ll likely see the troops withdrawing, heading back for the train. When that happens, we’ll fall back with them.”

“That don’t seem like much of a plan,” Walker said.

“Well, if you don’t think so, you should consider staying here,” Everson told him. “In fact, I invite you to do just that.”

Walker scowled. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Everson cocked his head. “I mean you’re kind of a pain in the ass, Walker. You try and bigfoot everyone to get your way, and then when someone stands up to you, you turn into a crybaby pussy. You don’t have anyone’s back, and that bugs me. A lot.”

“Screw you!”

Everson shook his head. “Now, now. Not in front of the children.” He nodded toward Curtis and Josh, who were watching the debate from atop one of the upper bunks.

“Well, screw them, too!” Walker snapped.

“Hey, Walker. You better cowboy up, guy. Otherwise, you’re no good to anyone. Not even yourself.” Diana sat down on the bunk next to Kenny. The small, hard-faced Asian woman reached out combed the boy’s hair with her fingers. Kay smiled. Diana was learning to deal.

“Sound advice,” Everson said.

Walker opened his mouth to say something, his face clouded in anger. Before he could get a word out, the radio Carl had given Kay chirped.

Carl’s voice came across its speaker, shrouded by gunfire. “Kilo, this is Charlie. Over.”

All heads swiveled toward the radio. Kay practically leaped off the bunk, smacking her head against the upper one. She reached for the black handheld radio but succeeded only in knocking it to the floor.

“Kilo, this is Charlie. Over!”

“Missus Ballantine, you need help working that?” Everson strode toward the bunk, waving the sentries to get back on lookout as he did.

Kay snatched up the radio and pressed the push-to-talk button. “Charlie, this is Kilo. Over.” She released the button.

“Hey, Kilo, listen, things are going pretty poorly up here,” Ballantine said. Some of his words were hard for Kay to understand because of the sounds of combat that threatened to drown him out. “I’m good, and the rest of the guys are good, but it’s hotter than we thought it would be. You guys need to get ready to fall back to the train. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to hold this position. Over.”

Kay pressed the button again. “Um, okay. I mean, roger, Charlie. Over.”

“Kilo, are you guys good? Over.”

“Yes, we’re good. There’s fighting going on around the fort, but we don’t know much about where. Sounds like it’s coming from around the main gate area. Over.”

“Kilo, is Everson on site? Over.”

Kay raised her head and found Everson standing right over her. He smiled and held out his hand. She hesitated a moment then handed the radio to him.

“Charlie, this is Devil Dog. Over.”

“Devil Dog, this is Charlie.” Ballantine sounded slightly amused. “At least you didn’t designate yourself A Jay Squared Away. You hear my SITREP? Over.”

“Roger, Charlie. Can you describe the engagement? Over.”

“Devil Dog, this is Charlie. We’re going to have to fall back to the second line. We’ve got a heavy smoke condition here that’s not improving with age. Are all the civilians in place and accounted for? Over.”

“Roger, Charlie. Everyone is here. You have instructions for us? Over.”

“Devil Dog, negative at this time. Message is informational only. What can you tell me about the contacts at the Gap? Over.”

“Charlie, this is Devil Dog. Contact was intermittent until about twenty minutes ago. Sounds mid-intensity right now. Continuous firing, some arty, and those tree mulcher things are ripping away pretty much all the time right now. Not seeing a lot of troop movements around our area, but the soldiers holing up in the barracks down the way have relocated to the line. Over.”

“Roger that, Devil Dog. You have security posted? Over.”

“Charlie, security is out. Over.”

“Outstanding. Pass the MBITR back to Kilo, please. Over.”

Everson handed the radio back to Kay, and she keyed it. “Charlie, this is Kilo. Over.”

“Kilo, listen to what Devil Dog says. If things break down before we can make it back, he’ll get you guys to the train. I left spare batteries for the radio in your bag, in the outside left pocket, just in case. Keep the radio on, and listen in for updates. Over.”

“We will, Carl. Charlie. Whatever. Over.”

“Mom! Can I talk to Dad?” Curtis asked, leaning over the bunk and peering down at her.

Kay shook her head. “Not now, hon.”

Curtis flounced back on the bunk.

“Kilo, this is Charlie. I need to get back in the fight. I’ll contact you again as soon as I have something to report. Charlie out.”

With that, the radio fell silent. Kay looked around and saw that everyone in the room was staring at her. Only Kenny’s attention was elsewhere. He had risen from the bunk and was waving his hands in the air, watching their fluttering movements.

“Okay,” Everson said. “We all heard it. The guys are all right. They’re going to have to fall back to another position, and it’s a tough fight, but they’re good to go. No one get too worried just yet.” He paused and shifted his M4. “But no one get too comfortable, either. We’re probably not going to be staying for very long.”

*

More ammo was
dropped off at Hastings’s position. He was practically floating on a sea of expended cartridges, and his rifle’s barrel was glowing red from the relentless rate of fire. He’d only seen that once before, after blazing through five mags on full auto while repelling a jihadi attack in Afghanistan years ago. He’d pretty much pushed his weapon to the same limits, only by firing on semiautomatic. And less than five feet below his position, reekers swarmed.

The smoke was so thick that he could barely see them at times. Tears ran down his cheeks and pooled in the bottom of his mask. Too much smoke was getting past the filters, and he was close to choking. His throat and sinuses were raw, and his lungs felt full. He wasn’t hacking up a lung yet, but that wasn’t very far in his future.

Some troops were falling out of the line, overpowered by the foul, acrid smoke that billowed up from the burning automobiles. The smoke gave the zombies perfect cover for their advance. Even though thousands of them lay dead at the foot of the barricade, wave after wave of hungry reekers climbed over the mounds of stilled corpses and continued to surge upward, reaching for the soldiers. Aside from Hastings, there were probably two dozen soldiers still slugging it out with the ghouls. All the wire barriers had been flattened, and the claymores had been exhausted. Everything was up to men with rifles, and their numbers were falling because of the smoke.