Wormwood Dawn (Episode IV) (8 page)

“Sweet.”

He stuffed it in his pants, remembering Shirley’s words about shooting one’s dick off, and kept on going. Realizing that he had forgotten to grab water, he went back to the cooler. He was running out of room in his pockets, but there was a rack nearby with “green bags” that were now free for the taking. He stuffed his beers, the water, and all the cans from his pockets into one, and headed for the front door.

The sound of a helicopter stopped Dan in his tracks. He crouched near the entrance, keeping behind the door jamb, listening as the tell-tale sound approached. A chopper was flying low and to the west. The rumbling sound of a heavy engine followed, and Dan felt the shaking of something large rolling down the street.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. “Fucking tank.”

He crossed the door to the other side, leaning out slightly to get a better view. The chopper was there, about three blocks away, following above an unseen vehicle on the street. The chopper was black, with the familiar triad symbol painted on its tail rotor housing. It was stalking overhead, ready to let loose a barrage of missiles and bullets. They were definitely looking for something.

Likely, him.

Dan held his breath, falling back into the shadows and hoping that the mercs weren’t hungry.

The tank rolled close by the front of the store. Its tracks dug into the pavement, making the whole block shake with its weight. The chopper flew ahead, leaving the armored vehicle behind. Through the window, Dan could see foot soldiers following the tank. They were dressed in urban assault gear, with gray and black camo patterns and black body armor.

They marched by like Gestapo, pointing their weapons around as they sought out anyone they could kill. Dan’s hatred for them grew by the second. He would love mothing more than to put a bullet through the faces of every last one of them. But he had no desire to face a tank.

His heart nearly stopped as two mercs broke off and began stalking toward the store’s entrance. He slinked to the back of the store, staying out of their line of sight. He would have to find another way out, he knew. There was no shooting in this case. If he killed them, he would only alert the others.

Unless…

He was staring right at a rack of expensive, imported kitchen knives. He almost chuckled, but swallowed his reaction and reached out to grab a nice, straight bladed paring knife. It was longer than usual; more like a Lister knife. He quickly pulled it from its backing, tossing the twist ties to the floor.

Fuck it,
he thought. He had killed a guy the first night with a knife. He could do it again.

He heard the two mercs enter the store, stopping to shine their flashlights around.

“Split up,” one of them said. “I’ll go right.”

Dan kept his eyes on the merc who was approaching him. The guy was short, almost too short. Dan could guess why this loser never got into the
real
Army.

Fucking loser.

He backed into an alcove, concealing himself in the shadows. The guy was getting closer, and the time would come for him to act. His heart raced with excitement as he gripped the knife. When the guy passed him, he sprang out, reaching out to cup his mouth and pull his head back. With the same motion, he plunged the knife into the merc’s throat, slicing it outward aggressively. The merc dropped his rifle and clutched his throat as Dan released him.

The rifle clunked as it hit the floor, and the sound of choking, though muffled, was quite obvious. But Dan watched, grinning, as the merc slowly bled to death.

“Davis?” the other merc called out. “You alright?”

Dan rolled the merc over to look at his face, trying to imagine what his voice sounded like.

“Um,” he stammered. “Yeah. Come ‘ere.”

He gritted his teeth, unsure if the other merc bought it. But the guy’s response eased his fear.

“You find somethin’?”

Dan remained quiet, creeping over to the other side of the aisle to await his next victim. As soon as he saw the suppressor of an assault rifle poke past the edge of the shelf, he grabbed it, pulling and charging forward to disarm the merc. He immediately stabbed downward, catching the merc right in the clavicle. The merc groaned, grabbing Dan’s arm as he sank to his knees. Dan punched him in the face, splattering his nose, and twisted the knife as he growled.

The merc loosened his grip, limping as Dan glared down at him. Dan withdrew the knife, stabbing him again and kicking his lifeless body to the floor.

“Faggot,” he hissed.

He crouched, picking up the merc’s weapon. It was a suppressed Sig 716, complete with holographic sights. He removed the magazine, checking the rounds inside. Winchester .308.

“Fucking sweet,” he said.

He searched the mercs’ bodies, grabbing every magazine they had. They each carried a grenade as well, and Dan stuffed them in his pockets.

Time to go.

Dan ran back to the front of the store, stopping at the window to check the street. Mercs were going in and out of the buildings on either side while the tank rolled slowly forward. Ahead, a pair of them ran out of a door leading to upstairs apartments. They shouted at the merc sticking out of the tank’s top hatch.

The tank stopped as the mercs cleared the way. Its turret turned to the left and rose upward. Dan looked up at the building’s windows, seeing several people crowded there looking out in panic. They disappeared when they saw what was happening, cowering back into their apartment to avoid the explosive shell that was about to lay them to waste.

Dan was torn. What the fuck should he do? He was only one guy. But he
did
have a silenced rifle. He could kill one of the mercs to put the others off guard. Maybe.

He took aim at the commander who issued orders from the hatch. He centered the red holographic dot right on the man’s face, hoping the sights were just close enough to allow him a shot. Before the man could issue the final order, Dan fired.

The man lurched forward, slumping down into the hatch. A good hit. Dan slinked back into the store, going along the opposite wall to find the back door to the alley. He had no idea whether his action had done anything to help the people up there, but the absence of tank fire told him that he had at least stalled them.

The storeroom was cluttered, but safe. There was a single steel door leading out to the alley. Dan opened it a crack and looked outside. He heard the shouts of men nearby, but couldn’t tell where they were located, and all that he could see was the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley. He dared to poke his head out and look to either side.

Clear.

Gathering his supplies, he slipped out the door and eased it closed. He ran in the opposite direction of the tank, stopping at the end of the alley to check the street. Behind him, he heard the deafening pop of an explosion. He shuddered, thinking he had failed the poor people in the apartment. But the continued gunfire told him otherwise.

Should he go back?

“Fuck no,” he said to himself. “Not my fucking problem. Not my fucking…
fuck!
”

Of course it was his problem. He was an American, not some cowardly jihadi fuckstick that hid in the dunes when trouble came.

Damn it!

He turned around, running back toward the sound of gunfire. The chopper flew across the alley at the next block, causing Dan to almost shit his pants. He ducked as it passed, then saw movement from the corner of his eye. He looked to the right, smiling at what he saw.

A squad of military—
real military—
was moving up toward him. Their leader saw him, motioning for him to stay back. The man waved to another behind him, and he was soon joined by another soldier holding a large missile launcher of some kind. The rocketman scanned the sky with his weapon, and Dan could hear the device beep as it locked on to its target. A woosh sounded as a rocket tore out of the launcher and immediately shot upward in search of the chopper. A few seconds later, an explosion rocked the alley.

The squad moved up. Dan watched them proudly, saluting the leader as they passed. The soldiers all nodded to him in respect.

“Good luck bros,” Dan whispered.

Dan turned around yet again, looking up at the sky to judge the time. The sun would be down soon, and the city would be even more dangerous in the dark. It was hard enough to get around in the day time, much less in complete darkness. It was probably time to figure out how to use the night vision goggles in the Hummer.

The sounds of gunfire and rockets erupted behind him as the military engaged the mercs. From the looks of it, the military squad was well equipped, and would make short work of the tank and its escorts. But, even though Dan would love to watch, now was not the time. Through the shaking and rumbling, he raced back to the parking garage, keeping close to the cover of abandoned cars.

He reached the parking garage just as the sky became dark blue and orange. He raced up the stairs, huffing and puffing halfway up and nearly collapsing at the top. He stumbled toward the Hummer breathlessly, leaning against the driver’s side door to catch his breath.

Jesus,
he thought.
I gotta quit smoking.

He opened the door, tossing his new rifle in the passenger seat, and jumped in. He instinctively reached for the ignition, but then realized he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Despite the need for him to get to his friends as soon as possible, he really wasn’t prepared. He was exhausted, ill-equipped, and hungry as hell.

“Eat, Dan,” he said, crawling into the back seat.

He opened the bag he had acquired, pulling out a can of chicken and the can opener. It was delicious, he discovered, and he gobbled it up like a starving pit bull. With a beer to wash it down, he enjoyed his meal in silence, watching the shadows lengthen as the sun disappeared.

Despite the relaxation, he still felt a strange emptiness. Not only had he lost his home, but he had lost his friends as well. He was lonely. He felt like the last man on Earth, and that was a foreboding feeling. He needed something to improve his mood.

He downed the rest of the beer and opened another. A couple Vicodin would take the sting off, too, and maybe some videos. He reached into the giant duffle he had packed at the house and took out his laptop. He remembered having downloading a bunch of TV episodes a few months before. He had saved them just in case the power went out.

Thankfully, the laptop was fully charged, and the files were right there waiting for him to watch. Grabbing a blanket from the cargo area, he tented himself under it and laid back in the seat in the darkness.

It was as close to home as he could get.

Dan awoke freezing. The cold had plastered the windows of the Hummer with a thin layer of frost, and his breath came in puffs of visible vapor. He curled himself up tightly in the wool blanket, practically mummified, yet still freezing. It was a foreboding feeling that weighed heavily on his motivation.

Seeing no solution other than starting the Hummer, he crawled into the front seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life—a bit too loudly for his comfort—and settled into a smooth purr as it warmed up. A few minutes later, warm air began to blow from the vents, slowly making the cab a bit more comfortable.

He lay back in the seat, looking around as the frost began to melt away from the windows. It was pitch black outside, with little visibility. All he could see were the stars, and a faint glow to the east. It was in the direction of the university, he knew. There was life there. Probably Gephardt life, but life nonetheless.

That’s where his friends were. That’s where
everybody
was being held.

He stared longingly, going through many scenarios in his mind. Were they plans? Maybe. Were they
good
plans? Probably not. Either way, one of them would
have
to work. Whether he snuck in or went gung ho like Rambo and just walked the fuck in with guns blazing, he was going to get them out or die.

That’s what friends are for. Right?

Right.

He popped open another beer, leaning against the window as he warmed up. He mindlessly reached for the bottle of Vicodin, popping two of them, and hummed to himself as he waited. He knew he would get very little sleep tonight, regardless of how he felt. It was just too cold, and his mind was abuzz with too much activity.

The night vision binoculars crossed his mind. Or were they goggles? He couldn’t remember. He threw off his blanket and crawled into the cargo area, turning on the dome light. Among the rifle magazines and other supplies, he spied the familiar case. They were binoculars. He could use them to scan the city at night.

Smiling, he grabbed them and donned the heavy field jacket that was neatly folded in the gear box. He opened the door and stepped out into the night. It was cold as fuck, and his teeth immediately began chattering. But, he stepped to the edge of the platform, leaning against the wall and looking out over the darkness.

He switched on the binoculars and put them to his face. Everything was black, with only a faint green glow of the warmer areas of the buildings visible. He adjusted the view, going through each spectrum until he found one that showed more detail. Now the buildings were clearly visible with a red tone, and all heat sources were displayed in faint orange.

There were tons of them.

Tiny orange blobs moved through the rubble, slowly shuffling or stalking the streets or alleys in their hunt for human flesh. There were no fast moving objects at all, other than what he guessed were dogs or cats. But one thing caught his attention, and sent a chill up his spine.

Against the faint red of a distant building, a black, spindly object moved up and down between windows almost effortlessly. It reminded him of the video posted by the random guy on the bulletin board. It was human shaped, but with long and thin arms and legs. It was crawling upside-down, stopping at each window, apparently in an effort to look inside.

And it wasn’t alone.

There were others on the ground, at least three of them, spidering their way through the alleys, as if on some kind of stalking mission. Dan’s heart quickened and his skin felt like it was shrinking. He watched one of them curiously as it climbed over a tall wall, then crawled downward toward a moving target. The speed of the target told him it was probably a Shuffler, mindlessly wandering the streets.