Z-Risen (Book 3): Poisoned Earth (18 page)

#30 – Battle Lines

07:45 hours approximate

Location: Just outside of Oceanside

The men reminded me of the crew
that had been guarding the old woman’s shop back in town--garbed from head to toe in black. Their ski masks didn’t do much except add to the fact that they looked like assholes.

One thing I noticed was that they were somewhat uncoordinated. Not that
I
was an expert of military strategy, but these guys sort of ran to the edge of a hill and dropped. One of the men was a little overweight and tripped, nearly dropping his gun.

I stifled a laugh when several assault rifles turned on us.

“Who the fuck…” I didn’t get to finish my sentence before they fired on us.

“Down,” Ramirez screamed.

The truck ahead of us swerved and was hit by machine gun fire. An RPG round roared, but missed them and sailed away on a tail of smoke. It impacted with an apartment building and exploded, raining debris on the ground. Chunks rattled across the roof of our ride.

No offense to whoever built our vehicle, but a round that size would send us to a fiery death.

The helicopter turned and swept toward our position.

Rounds punched into the side of our truck. Christy screamed, so I grabbed her and pushed her into Anna, making them sink lower into the seat. Frosty moaned, but there was nothing I could do for the dog except keep her from freaking the fuck out.

The driver turned his head to take in the threat. Glass shattered as a round shattered a
window. The driver jerked and slumped to the side. Ramirez leaned over and grabbed the wheel to steady the truck.

“Cook, Cook, hit it, man,” Ramirez said.

I thought the driver was dead, but he jammed his foot into the floor and the truck responded by leaping forward.

The helicopter opened up with a pair of rocket rounds that exploded into the ground around the guys assaulting us.

I ran my hand over my arm and side to make sure I wasn’t hit, because the shockwave felt like it took a layer of skin off.

“Shoot back,” Anna said and handed me her gun. She put an arm protectively around Christy and held her close.

I took the gun and sat up. Figures swarmed before me. I aimed and pulled the trigger, and regretted the blast that echoed around the interior. I clearly missed, so I guessed at the way the truck was darting and led my next target with the reticules. The gun boomed in my hands and a man slumped to the side, catching his friend and dragging him to the ground. I fired again and missed.

“I suck at this,” I muttered.

“You did great, Creed,” Anna said.

We’d moved past the line of shooters, most of whom were scattering now that we had air support. Another truck took a turn and came up behind us. I thought it was one of our guys, but when bullets peppered the back of the car, I realized they were also gunning for us.

Ramirez screamed more orders into his headset. I wished I could shoot back, but the rear of the vehicle was closed off and angled downward. The engineer part of my brain told me that it was probably designed to deflect shots, and the want-to-stay-alive part of my brain warned me that with enough power, a bunch of rounds would turn us into spaghetti.

The helicopter swung around again and opened fire on the pursuing truck. Thank the fuck Christ for the boys in that bird. If not for them, we’d have been toast.

Ramirez yanked the wheel hard to avoid an abandoned car. We swiped the truck’s side, but managed to stay on the road.

Bullets hit the truck again, and we nearly went off the road when the driver overcorrected. Anna came out of the seat, still holding Christy. She slapped her hand against the roof and pushed them both back down.

I’d nearly dropped the gun as I reached for them both. Anna shot me a look of consternation, so I handed her pistol back. She took it, and then swiveled to her side and pressed her left arm against the door. She popped up out of the remains of the window, brushing aside safety glass on her way.

The helicopter skewed away from us and then spun hard. I caught the shadow as the blades cut into the sunlight, fuselage temporarily hiding the sun. The truck pursuing us took a small road that was covered with trees.

Something rocketed across the sky, trailing smoke. The chopper swerved, hard to port, and the missile flew by.

“What the fuck is going on out there?” I yelled.

The figure of Joel Kelly appeared in the truck ahead of us. He came out of the window and braced his upper body against the window. Anna on our left side, Joel on the lead vehicle's right, me holding onto a little girl. That pretty much summed up my life.

Joel must have taken issue with something ahead. He aimed, and fired rapidly. I knew that guy pretty well. He was usually calm, and reserved ammo whenever possible, so he must have been pissed.

Something slammed into the truck--
several
somethings. The driver held onto his
side
and groaned, but he and Ramirez kept the truck from running off the road.

The chopper faded back as another something whistled through the air. I hesitated to even call them missiles, because we were the
good
guys, right? We were the men and women fighting the hordes of Zs. This new world might suck, but it didn’t have the right to throw
this
at us.

Ramirez cocked his head to the side. “Our air support is pulling back until they figure out who the hell is firing on them,” he said over his shoulder.

“Then who’s going to cover us?” I asked.

“You figure that out, I’ll give you a gold fucking star.”

“Great. Always wanted to be an admiral,” I said, trying to sound like a smartass. Truth was, I was scared to death. We were in a high-speed tin can, being fired on by unknown assailants.

“No worries, we’re close to the base now. Should be just over that rise,” Ramirez said.

Joel emptied another magazine and then popped back into the truck.

Something took shape in the road. More guys in uniform? I strained to make out who they were, and realized there were a bunch of Zs with a couple of shufflers guiding them. The only good news was that they were facing away from us. So who were they after?

###

08:20 hours approximate

Location: Just outside of Oceanside

The day was gray and the sky was fat with clouds. Looked like it was about to piss rain on this part of the state. The landscape around us was a mess of dilapidated buildings that had probably been high-end stores a few months ago. Now they were battered and abused. Doors hung open, windows had been shattered, and mannequins, boxes, clothes, bags, and all kinds of crap were scattered among a host of roving Zs.

We’d pulled ahead of the battle and, I hoped, away from the guys shooting at us for good. After the battle at the house, I’d had enough of guys firing on me to get through the next six months.

A pair of pickups cut across the road and roared off to a side
street. Joel aimed and fired. It wasn’t until later that I thought to even ask if he knew who he was shooting at.

A third vehicle followed. It was a big Chevy Tahoe that had been spray-painted with green and gray. The windows were darkened, but the rear one cracked open, slid down, and revealed a guy with a machine gun. He leaned out and fired on the lead vehicle. Joel fired back and then popped back into the truck.

“Shoot back, Creed,” Anna said.

The SUV roared away and followed the other trucks.

“They’re gone,” I said lamely.

The helicopter reappeared and squatted over our position. Ramirez shouted commands into his mic.

Our truck slowed to a crawl and the chopper kept pace over us. Then it must have gotten the green light to pursue, because it flew after the trucks.

“Why are they fucking around and shooting at us?” I asked.

“Million dollar question. Best we can figure, given reports at base, they’re launching a full-scale assault on Fort Obstacle. We’re to get back with a quickness and bring some thunder.”

“Hooah,” Cook said.

A pair of cars roared up on us,
Mad Max
-style. They were modified SUVs fitted with some kind of armor plating. They came parallel with us, and gunfire sounded. We got low in the backseat as rounds exploded around Joel’s truck.

The HMMWV swerved onto the road and we followed, Cook fighting the wheel as he spun so hard I nearly turned Christy into a pancake.

More gunfire rattled around us, and that’s when our salvation came into sight.

The base was just as they’d described it: walls had been set up in a semi-circle around a couple of buildings. Along the perimeter sat four taller lookout stations that couldn’t have been more than thirty feet high. The walls were lined with razor wire and spikes. Along the wall lay piles of the dead.

A bulldozer sat near a curb, hulking and cold. Yellow paint had peeled in places, and the scoop was a dark red. I didn’t need anyone to explain to me that it was dyed that color from blood.

Something in the distance caught my attention. I struggled to make out what I was seeing. Like a black wave, it shuddered as it strode the ground. "Massive" didn’t even begin to describe it. I rubbed my eyes, shook my head, and squinted. Optical illusion brought on by smoke and adrenaline? An army of bad guys on the move?

I knew what it was, but my mind sank into the land of denial.

Something whistled five feet off the deck and exploded as it struck one of the walls. The East side was under assault, and entire sections had been blown away. A piece of heavy machinery moved into place and pushed the remains of the wall back into place. Then, it stopped. A couple of guys in green hopped out, firing into the distance as they hit the ground.

“Fucking Reavers,” breathed Ramirez.

The helicopter flashed across the sky, having hopefully dealt with the trucks, and came to hover just over the base. It swept left and then paused so the gunner could concentrate fire on a location to the East.

Assault rifles hammered in the morning air.

“What the hell is going on?” was all I could manage.
Brilliant
.

“I’m scared, Jackson,” Christy said.

I pulled her close and told her I was also scared, but that didn’t help. She probably wanted me to go all Joel Kelly and figure out how to shoot the bad guys.

That’s when the morning was shaken by an explosion that smashed into Joel’s truck. The vehicle
tilted a full three feet and then slammed to the ground. The force of the explosion pushed the truck off the road and into the gutter.

“IED!” Cook yelled.

They brought the truck to a fast halt, and Ramirez and Cook poured out. The truck behind us slammed on its brakes, and more men filled the street. They set up a perimeter while our driver and Ramirez ran to the truck.

Joel fell out, looking dazed and confused. He held his hand to his ear, but damn if that tough Marine still kept his AR in one hand. He sat down hard in the middle of the street and looked around. His eyes were unfocused and he shook his head. Blood dripped from his hands.

I was already out of the truck and on my way to help Joel. Something whistled over the ground and then roared past me. The RPG round smashed into the truck behind us and exploded. I hit the ground hard enough to see stars and the breath left my body. I rolled over, ears ringing, and stared at the sky.

Christy and Anna fell out of our truck, followed by Frosty, and made for me.

“Ambush, get off the street,” Ramirez yelled.

A man near me dropped, and didn’t move again. More gunfire rattled around me.

Anna was the last out. She helped me up, and together we stumbled to the side of the road, with Christy and Frosty hot on our heels. Anna held her pistol as we bolted for cover.

I felt dazed, like someone had punched me upside the head. My ears still rang and I got a case of vertigo so strong I dropped to my hands and knees.

“Get up, Creed. Get the fuck up and head for the trees,” Anna yelled, but her voice sounded hollow, like she was yelling inside a room filled with mattresses.

Christy grabbed my arm and pulled. I looked up, and her face was frozen in shock. She yelled at me, but I couldn’t understand her. Frosty nipped at Christy’s arm, but she pushed the dog away.

I rolled over and struggled to breathe. Bullets rattled around me, so I hit the deck again. Always make yourself a small target: that was Joel’s advice.

Ramirez turned and returned fire. He laid a line of fire on a building across from us. Rounds punched into walls and shattered windows. The roar of gunfire was a muddled mess in my head.

I got to my hands and knees again and decided that I didn’t want to be a target, so I staggered--yeah, just like a Z--toward an apartment building that looked as if fire had taken it a few weeks ago. Christy stuck to me, and Frosty ran ahead.

We reached a caved-in doorway and dropped next to a set of concrete stairs. I reached for my gun, but it wasn’t there. My backpack was in the rear of the truck, and with it, my backup weapon. The only things I had on me were a knife and my trusty wrench. I knew the heavy tool was still strapped under my arm, because I’d felt every bang as it repeatedly struck my ribs and side.

Christy pushed Frosty down and together we huddled while the air filled with bullets.

###