White Ash on Bone: A Zombie Novel (15 page)

The Apache chain guns cut out and the chopper engines whined up in pitch as they shifted position.

The next sounds carried down by the river were multiple whooshing sounds followed by explosions.

“Shit!” said Eason, “I think they just took out the Washington’s Crossing Bridge.”

“Lot of good that will do," said Fennel, "Those things must have been getting across the bridges all night.”

"More helicopters," Eason pointed down river.  Ten Black Hawks approached the point and then slowed to a hover over Point Park.  The park held the half buried ruins of the city’s namesake, Fort Pitt. The fort had once dominated the entire Ohio Valley to the Mississippi.  Today, the fort had a front row seat to the end of the world.

Three of the Black Hawks broke off from the rest and turned to the football stadium.  One by one, they landed in the middle of the field.  Troops disembarked wearing bio-chemical gear.

An hour later, Eason found himself facing a crowd of panicked civilians.  People rushed to the stadium in droves.  In the first half hour, they jammed the early morning streets of the North Side.  While zombies had been dispersing into the North Side of the city for hours, encountering one was still random.  The police tried to keep the traffic moving but the increasing attacks brought movement to a stop.

Eason had seen the same thing happen in Oakland across the river.  You had people sitting in bumper to bumper traffic when one of those creatures meanders over and tries getting inside a vehicle to get at someone.  He thought about what that would be like to view that from the driver’s seat of the car behind the one being attacked.  Eason pictured being stuck with no room to drive anywhere.  “Option A,” you hang tight and pray some one will show up and help the situation.  “Option B,” you run like hell, Eason thought.

The crowd running to the stadium from everywhere was option B.  Eason’s job was to sort out the wounded for the military and send them to the other stadium across the parking lot.  He was told to tell people the military had medical attention for them there.

The football stadium had fairly solid iron gates crested with the football team’s logo.  The police had closed all the gates but one in each section, so they could properly inspect people as they made their way to safety.

The military had landed and taken charge of the situation.  Three soldiers stood behind Eason and another police officer.  The soldiers held their guns at the ready.  A number of people were yelling at him and the soldiers.

“C’mon those fucking things are everywhere, let us in!” someone shouted.

“You get in once it's your turn,” one of the other police officer shouted.

Across the parking lot at the baseball park came rapid popping of gunfire.  The crowd in front of Eason became silent, but the air carried a chorus of distant screams.

He turned away from the crowd and reached for his radio.  Over his shoulder he looked at the soldiers with their weapons pointed in the crowd’s direction.  Eason locked eyes with one of the soldier's through his bio-chemical suit.

The soldier adjusted his trigger finger closer to the guard of the weapon and shook his head, "No," ever so slightly.

Call it in and die, Eason thought.  He dropped his hand away from the radio.  The soldier nodded for Eason to step back away from the checkpoint.

"Going to need a word with you officer," the soldier said.

The soldier led him back into the stadium out of hearing range of anyone else.  "Am I going to have a problem with you?" the soldier said.

"You’re shooting the injured over there, aren't you?" Eason said.

"It comes right from the top, Sir, nothing to be done about it,” the soldier replied.  “If someone is injured, we separate and dispatch the threat.  They were supposed to hold off on the dirty work over there for another half hour, but sometimes shit doesn't work out the way you plan."

"If you shoot me the crowd will see it, and believe me they are going to panic," Eason replied.

"Be cool," the soldier said.  "Perhaps we both get to see tomorrow."

The back of the crowd in front of the gate let out a cry as people pressed up against the line to the stadium.  The dead had followed the fleeing people into the parking lot.  The gate where Eason was working stood as a cul-du-sac with all but one of the gates open.  People rushed to get into the stadium only to find themselves pressed into a death trap.  As the crowd pushed in, their own efforts forced the outward open gate closed. 

Eason watched helpless while dozens of people were trampled and crushed by the weight of the stampede.

The zombies closed the distance and found the back of the crowd.  A sniper on one of the stadium ramps opened up on the undead but hit civilians as a by-product of every shot.

The undead mixed into the crowd as they attacked. 

A squad of soldiers ran up from around the river-side of the stadium but stopped short of the refugees.  They formed a skirmish line facing the stadium and brought their guns up.

The soldier with Eason grabbed him by the arm.  "Get out of the gate area.  If they have to open fire, we’re going to be right in the kill zone," the soldier said.

They ran for cover as the squad outside opened up on anything that ran at them.

Hours later, Eason leaned against a structural pier near the gate he had tried to evacuate civilians through.  He reached into his pocket and found a cellophane wrapped package of cigarettes; he pulled one out and lit it. He inhaled deeply and held his breath for several seconds before exhaling.

In front of him, hundreds of the undead clawed and banged at the metal gates of the stadium.

“You know,” Fennel said, “We’re going to die here like the British.”

“I rather not have a history lesson just now,” Eason said.

Fennel ignored Eason’s comment.  “General Braddock was sent up here to take the French Fort Duquesne.  It sat right where Fort Pitt was constructed.  The Indians ambushed the British up river from here and routed them.  They brought back the British captives, but the French wouldn’t let the Indians kill them inside the fort. Instead, the Indians crossed over to this side of the river and butchered the prisoners pretty much here.  Go figure we would build a football stadium over it, and even have a “Red Zone” where all the people were killed.”

“Did we finish the count?” Eason said.

“Yeah, we managed to pack in about 14,000 terrified pork-chops into this slaughter house,” Fennel said.  “Most of them are in the stands.  How’s it looking outside?”

Eason nodded at the gate, “Too many hungry customers.  The good news is that military landed some people across the river downtown and they have been doing alright.  On the other hand, the South Side got over run, and the dead are raising hell up in Mount Washington and Mount Oliver.  The North Side is wasted.  They intermixed with some of your more unlucky pork-chops outside. It was mid-evil out there.  We would have been better off with swords and axes.”

Eason took another hit of his cigarette and flicked the ash. “Look at them,” Eason said.  “They are climbing over each other to get through those gates at us.  Sooner or later, they’re going to either form a ramp of bodies over the barricade, or the gates are going to give out from the weight of that mess. You can already see the gate bouncing a little.  We were shooting them at first, but you have to get real close not to hit the metal mesh of the gate.  Plus, an unmoving body just gives them something to stand on.  There were dozens then, now look at it, must be hundreds of them out there.”

“You should see the river side gate,” Fennel said.  “There must be a thousand of them.  By the way, the military scrapped the evacuation plans.”

“What the hell are they thinking?” Eason said.  “Are they going to just let them overrun us?”

“They don’t know where to move us,” Fennel said.  “From what a Captain told me, this shit is spreading to other cities.  Best they can tell is that people who get bitten by those things die after several hours.  Sometimes, the victims have the time to drive to other cities before they turn.  This morning there are reports of this shit starting in Cleveland, Chicago, Philadelphia, Washington, Buffalo, and New York just to name a few.  I’m sure there are plenty of small towns out there too.”

“What about your family?” Eason said.

“My wife and grandchild are in section 213; I don’t know where my daughter is.  My wife says she never made it home last night.”

“I hope she’s alright," Eason said.  "We’re pretty close in age and I always wanted to ask her out.”

“I’d never let my baby date the likes of you,” Fennel said. “But under the circumstances, I hope you get the chance.”  He reached out and offered his hand for Eason to shake.

“I don’t have any family," Eason said, "but I'll stand by yours no matter what happens.”

“I appreciate it,” Fennel said.  “I need you to do something else.”  He grabbed Eason’s shoulder and squeezed like a vice-grip.  “If it comes to it, don’t let those things get my grandchild.”

I should have shot myself while I had the chance, Eason thought.

“If I was smart, I would have have told them to get into one of the taller buildings downtown,” Fennel said.  Some of them have helicopter pads on their roofs.  Too bad those things have the stadium surrounded.”

A staccato of rapid gunfire echoed through the concrete halls of the stadium.

River side! River side… the gate is buckling, all units fall back to secondary positions."

Eason dropped his cigarette and ran up the stadium ramp leading to the next level.  From there he and Fennel rode an escalator to the club level and pushed through an unlocked gate leading out into the stands.  A Blackhawk was sitting idle on the 50-yard line.  Across the stadium he could see the river-side gate with the section in question swaying back and forth by at least a foot.

In another section of the gate, a huge mound of the undead had formed a pile of bodies large enough for one of the undead to grab the top of the gate and pull itself over.  A soldier pointed his weapon at the creature and fired off a shot that left the ghoul unmoving.

By ones and twos the undead were spilling over the top while more soldiers rushed to take up a firing line near the gate.  In the stands, thousands of spectators hustled to get as far away from the failing gate as possible.

Built into each corner of the stadium were spiral ramps that led to every level of the facility.  Soldiers took up positions on the inward facing arc of both spirals on the riverside of the stadium.  They opened fire into the growing mound.

On the field, the Black Hawk’s engine let out a high-pitched whine as its starting engine kicked in.  The blades on top of the helicopter spun slowly to life. The whine picked up in tempo while the blades picked up exponential speed.  Eason felt the first push of air from the chopper and it brought with it the taste of engine exhaust and gunpowder.

A sign on the wall beside him read, "Section 213."  The seats were empty.

"Helen" Fennel shouted. "We have to find my family.”  The private club boxes sat above the section and a number of people had managed to pull themselves up into them.  People were pointing down at the helicopter on the field.

"Oh my God," Eason said, "Those idiots are going-" The sound of the helicopter drowned his words out.

At least a hundred people that had been sitting in the stands had jumped the railing onto the field.  They ran to the perceived safety of the chopper from every direction while it was gaining the power to take off.  The skids were just lifting off as several people dove inside.  It continued to lift, but a few more people managed to get a hold of the skids near the front of the craft.  Unbalanced, the Black Hawk drifted forward to the river as it climbed about ten feet off the ground.  A couple of the people fell off the skids or let go to fall to the grass.  The craft pitched to the right, and its tail swung 180 degrees to the left from the weight change. 

A woman was slung out of the spinning craft.  Eason watched her long hair flowing in the air.  Her arms flailed in empty space while she sailed downward to her death.  The Black Hawk spun down the field out of control in the direction of the river.

The riverside of the stadium had only a small section of seating a dozen or more rows deep.  In normal times, local high school bands would be seated here during football games.  Directly behind this section was the plaza where soldiers were desperately trying to hold the gate. Some of them heard the chopper coming and ran to get out of the way.

The skids of the helicopter hit the top few rows of the seats. It was enough to roll the top of the vehicle with its blades pitching forward to the ground.  The blades hit concrete and sheared off into the plaza, they cut through running bodies like grass.  The impact of the blades caused the chopper to jerk to the right sending the tail spinning around.  The tail blades spun out into the plaza like a giant lawn mower mulching a couple of unlucky soldiers.  With the main rotor blades gone from the top of the chopper, the craft flipped over and slid across the plaza.  It smashed into a section of the gate which buckled outward.  The crash bent open a small gap in the gate.

The chopper sat on its side smoking.  A crewmember inside the wreck crawled out of the top.  Nearby, several zombies squeezed through the gap in the damaged gate.  The soldier dropped to the ground and limped away from the craft as fast as his injured leg could carry him.  The zombies lumbered behind him feet away.

Eason could see a pool of liquid forming on the ground by the chopper.  Oh shit, he thought. If I can see fuel from here-