Turnbull was pleasantly surprised by his brother’s choice of location.  One thirteen story building stood in the middle of a pile of wreckage.  What had once been a booming office district had been leveled by time, fires, and maybe a little help from a demolition team.  Bricks, glass, and twisted metal littered the streets to such an extent that made driving over five miles an hour a hazardous endeavor.

            The surrounding buildings had collapsed in an almost circular pattern, forming what seemed like a five foot high wall around the tower.  There was one entrance, and if that could be blocked off, they’d cut off the advancing force’s retreat.  Unfortunately if Turnbull’s troops needed an escape, they’d also be out of luck.  There were holes in the wall large enough for a man to escape through on foot, but there were plenty of undead around.

            Their moans were audible from the rooftop.  Though Turnbull resisted the urge to look down at the forming mob, he dreaded the night.  It had been years since he’d had to sleep in the open with the undead.  Though he was accustomed to witnessing horrors long before the dead walked, their haunted and agonized moans unnerved Turnbull.  When he closed his eyes he could picture friends he’d lost in Vietnam pleading with him; wondering why he’d allowed them to die.

            If his two new acquaintances hadn’t convinced him to fight, Turnbull knew he’d have had many more nights of old friends pleading ahead of him.

            Yawning next to him, Sam Paterson surveyed the grounds and gazed down at the undead below, possibly counting their numbers.

            “You know, two weeks ago they were the biggest of my problems,” Paterson said.  “And before that we were afraid of a global nuclear holocaust, destabilization in other countries, and pollution.  The world got so small.  Now it seems to be growing again.”

            “Always scary.”

            “Now I’m going to participate in my fourth fire fight in a week.”

            “Why’d you become a cop?”

            Paterson paused, considering his answer.  Perhaps it had been so long ago that he’d forgotten.

            “I was an idealist.  My neighborhood was full of pushers, junkies, and prostitutes.  My mother used to go on about how one man could change the world and I believed her.  I’ve always felt responsible for the people around me.  When I was in school I’d always get in trouble for picking fights with bullies.  Maybe I’ve never changed.”

            He smiled.

            “You got another pack of cigarettes on you?  I’m afraid to bum one off of your brother.”

            Turnbull shook his head.

            “Just as well, I quit twenty years ago.”

            They both laughed.

            “You know, those things killed my father but that never stopped me or Rick.”

            Paterson looked at the horizon; not at the defensive rubble or the mobbing undead but past that.  Perhaps enjoying a view of the clear sky.  Maybe he was picturing what the cityscape looked like before.

            “The location’s not bad unless they use artillery,” Paterson said.  “If we can get a second group to close in behind, we can pinch them in at both sides.  This building’s hard enough to get into that they’d be hard pressed to storm in here.”

            Turnbull nodded.  The location was fortified, but he intended to set traps in order to make it even harder for the enemy to get inside.  He’d brought some explosives and razor wire.

            “I’m going to try and grab a few hours sleep before sunset,” Sam said.

            A few minutes after Sam left, Turnbull watched the first jeep load of reinforcements arrive.  He didn’t expect too many more troops to show up.  There were probably going to be thirty soldiers on his side, including the ones already securing the tower.  The pincer move was out of the question.

            There were two helicopters in the compound.  One would remain on base in case Olmstead needed a quick escape through the sky.  The other worried Turnbull.  There was no telling what kind of armament the gunmen would carry.  They could use sniper rifles to take pot shots at Turnbull’s forces from a distance.  Though he doubted they’d fit such a small chopper with a machine gun, he couldn’t discount automatic rifles.  There was also the possibility that the passengers would throw explosives.

            He shook his head, wondering why he’d ever agreed to this.

*

            Lou Sanchez spent the better part of his day making a contact with the underground.  He’d met clandestinely with the operative Turnbull had told him to contact.  Refusing to just let Olmstead execute the refugees, Lou needed to find something useful.  He also needed a way to find out if Turnbull was trying to communicate with him.  His sources had led him to a radio operator named Phil Rooker.  Once the sources had talked to Rooker, he’d needed little convincing.  The radio operator had suspected Lou of being a member of the resistance for some time.  Even better was that the operator was on Lou’s round.  Short chats with the radio operators were not out of the ordinary.

            The operator had served in Korea, where he’d left his right leg, starting three inches below the kneecap.  The former soldier still wore a military style vest, but otherwise donned a sandal, Aloha shirt, and jeans with the empty leg pinned shut.  A safari hat and binoculars hung from his tower’s ceiling.  The rifle, which defined the other half of Rooker’s duty, leaned against his radio desk.

            Using his missing leg as an excuse, Rooker almost always stayed in a watch tower.  Since he moved about as slowly as the undead, the former soldier claimed to have little use for the ground.  Aside from being competent with the radio, Rooker never lost his aim.

            When Lou entered the tower, Rooker leaned back in his rocking chair and turned up the volume on an old boom box, which played an Elvis tune.

            “What can I do for you?” he asked.

            “I’ve heard there’s been some squawking on the radio,” Lou replied.

            “Apparently Turnbull wants a fight.  Say tomorrow around noon.”

            “Does Olmstead know yet?”

            Rooker shook his head.

            “Thanks,” Lou said and climbed down.

            He wanted to request follow-up information, but repeat contact would be too risky.  More than likely, Olmstead would only send in troops who were in his pocket.  For the first time in his career, Lou hoped he wasn’t one of Olmstead’s most trusted soldiers.  He’d witnessed Grant’s execution and had outside experience so he was a likely candidate for an assault mission.  Under any other circumstances, he’d jump at the opportunity to sabotage a large hunting party but the refugees needed him inside of the compound.

            Unable to contemplate his next move, Lou continued to walk his route.

*

            Catherine had done a pretty good job of dodging questions.  In fact, she’d stayed in her hotel room after reading the note.  Wondering who the note was from and if it was a trap, she’d been weary to leave the herd.  At least with most of her people still around, any attacker would hesitate.

            With the danger of sudden attack, Catherine figured it would be impossible to rest but when Frank shook her awake, he’d informed her that she’d slept for two hours.  Beyond his voice, someone rapped on the other side of the door.  By the time Catherine’s feet hit the carpet, Frank was already peering out of the peep hole.  When his stance relaxed and he opened the door, Catherine realized she’d been holding her breath.

            “Hello,” said Phil Harker.  “I woke up with a note under my pillow.  I guess it was supposed to go here.”

            Frank accepted a piece of paper, which his eyes scanned.

            “It’s from Jack.  He and Ted went out for a night walk.  Looks like they were asking for trouble.”

            “I’d expect that from Ted.  I’m surprised Jack would go along with it,” said Catherine.

            “We’re going to have to leave tomorrow,” Phil said.  “About your note from a friend; you’re going to need his help.”

            Frank looked back to Catherine.  His jaw had dropped.  Neither of them had left the hotel room.  Phil was a bit eccentric, and he’d been acting stranger since Paul’s death but Catherine couldn’t see him breaking into her hotel room.  She’d also doubted very much that he was the friend.

            “How’d you know about the note?” Frank asked.

            “I spoke with Paul again.”

            With that, Phil turned to walk outside.  Before leaving, he paused.

            “Everything’s going to work out fine.  Have faith.”

            After he disappeared, Catherine and Frank stared at each other in silence, wondering what had happened.  Phil had mentioned conversations with his dead son, but he hadn’t tried to spin them as prophetic.

            Breaking the silence, Frank eased the door shut.

            “Well, I’m intrigued,” he said.

            “Maybe we should plan a discrete exit.  I’m sure someone will be watching out hotel tonight.”

*

            Relieved that his rounds were done for the day, Lou headed back to his dormitory.  He’d been assigned the night and early morning shift, but due to recent losses in staff he’d been forced to take an extra shift.  He couldn’t complain though.  The extra roaming time gave him an opportunity to contact a few sources.  From what he’d learned, Olmstead had spent the day contacting soldiers who were firmly in his pocket and ordering them off of their shifts.  Apparently, Olmstead anticipated a need for a small army on short notice.  Lou accepted the good news with a smile.  If he’d been chosen for an outside campaign he wouldn’t have been assigned extra shifts.  With one less worry on his list, Lou looked forward to catching a few hours of sleep.

            His dreams were shattered by the sight of Chambers at his doorstep.  Leaning against the doorway, his rifle hung from his shoulder by the strap and a toothpick protruded from his mouth.  His relaxed posture was a good sign, but Lou feared what he’d ask.

            “Nice day, isn’t it?” Chambers said.

            “Very, but I’m looking forward to sleeping through some of it.”

            Lou yawned for effect.

            “We’ve been picking up some chatter on the radio.  It seems our old buddy Turnbull is drumming for war.”

            Chambers grinned.

            “Olmstead wants Buckingham to stay close just in case someone here gets any ideas.  The good news is they’ve put me in charge of the assault.  I was thinking I could get what’s left of our old unit back together.  I talked to Doug and he’s in.”

            Shit!  How am I going to say no without sounding suspicious?

            “A few of us should stay back to watch the home front.  What if the whole thing is a diversion?”

            “I didn’t count on you being a chicken shit.  Doug already said he’d fly the chopper.  There’ll be plenty of guards back here.”

            “With my experience?  If Olmstead didn’t ask me to come along, then he had a good reason.”

            Chambers shook his head.

            “You think you’ve got a sweet job?” Lou asked.  “If there is an attack here, I’m keeping the chance to be a fucking hero.”

            “In that case, you’re not a chicken shit.  But I still hate you.”

            Lou wondered how playful his last comment had actually been.  Chambers had been pretty eager to see Grant die.  If it offered him an opportunity, Lou was sure the soldier would expose anyone as a traitor, even if they were unquestionably loyal.  Pushing the thoughts from his head, Lou forced a smile.

            “You’re just pissed that you didn’t think of it first.”

            “Adios,” Chambers said.

            “Later.”

            With any luck, Turnbull would put a bullet through Chambers’ skull.

*

            Helen woke, gasping for air.  Her hands clenched at her collar, trying to free her throat, which felt like a snake had been coiled around it.  Because of her recent nightmares, she’d found a secluded room in which to rest.  Unlike the last fortified structure she’d stayed in, this one wasn’t crowded at all.  Even after reinforcements arrived, there would be more rooms than gunmen.  At the moment, she was thankful for her solitude.  If the nightmare had been anything like some of the others, she’d probably been kicking and moaning.  She felt sore all over as though she’d been beaten and trampled.  Helen ignored the soreness between her legs.

            We’re coming for you, a voice echoed.

            After a quick inspection revealed no bruises, Helen climbed to her feet.  The action made her dizzy and nauseous.  To keep herself steady, Helen had to lean against the wall.  Momentarily she wondered if she was at sea.  Then she remembered the ride over, the previous night, and that she’d never seen an Ocean outside of pictures.

            Though it was still a hundred or so miles inland, the compound that would have been her new home was closer to a shoreline than Helen had ever been.  If she made it out of this situation alive and if she ever saw Jack again, maybe they could see it together.

            “Welcome back,” Sam said.

            Still a bit woozy, Helen didn’t trust herself to speak.  She did manage a smile.

            “Just wanted to check in on you again,” he said.  “You were having a nightmare.”

            “I know.”

            “Do you remember anything?”

            “Thankfully no.”

            “Not too many people showed up.  There’s maybe thirty of us, but if Turnbull had predicted the right troop numbers we’ll only be outnumbered three to one.”

            “Only,” Helen said.

            The last impossible situation they’d seen had been far less balanced, but they’d only wanted to get in and out.  Previously, Helen was used to outnumbering the opposing force.  Superior firepower and the element of surprise also helped.  Helen supposed this was how a smaller settlement would have felt had they known the messiah’s forces were coming.

            They say payback’s a bitch, she thought.  At least this time, she was fighting on the right side of the battle.  Maybe that mattered more than the outcome.

            “It’s strange, but I feel like I’m almost not needed here,” Sam said.  “Most of the people here have as much fighting experience as me.  And Turnbull seems to have everything planned out.  I’d give him more advice, but he’s thought of everything before me.”

            “How’s it feel?”

            “I don’t know.  At least we’re not sitting back in those hotel rooms.  I don’t think I could have stood another day feeling helpless in there.”

            Helen laughed.

            “From the sounds of things, another day there wasn’t an option for either of us.”

            For a moment they locked eyes.

            “You’re not useless.  You’re the only person here I trust to watch my back.”

            “I’m just worried about Turnbull’s brother.”

            “I think he’ll be okay once he sees us shooting at his enemies.”

            “I’m going to try to sleep on the floor over there.  Turnbull wants to see you when you wake.”

            Helen nodded.

            What Sam curled up in a corner, her mind returned to the dream.  She suddenly felt like an unseen watcher was in the room with them.  Shivering, she fought the urge to shout out.  If Lenux was in her head again, it was best to ignore him.

            Invisible hands moved up and down Helen’s body, feeling her legs, buttocks, and chest.  Her reserve finally broke as she slapped at the air around her body.  A familiar voice laughed and the hands continued probing.

            “You okay?” Sam asked.

            “Just jittery,” she said.  “I think I’ll go see what Turnbull wants.”

            Glad to have something else to do, Helen hurried out of the room.  She hoped the presence of other people would deter her tormenter.

*

            “I don’t know about this, Gideon,” Rick said.

            “You picked a good position.  I’ll figure out the rest,” Turnbull said.  “I know what they have at their disposal and I think I can guess what they’ll throw at us.”

            Once he’d burned though the pack of cigarettes, Rick had resorted to chewing his finger nails.  Two of his fingertips were already bare.  Instead of surveying the battleground, Rick paced nervously.  His eyes darted all over the skies as if he expected a chopper to appear.  Turnbull needed his brother to be calm.

            “Your fingers are bleeding.  Do you want me to find you some gum?”

            Rick’s hands dropped to his sides.

            “Sorry.”

            “Look, we’ll get through this, but I need you to have a level head.  You were doing fine before I showed up.”

            “That’s when I was running.”

            Turnbull shook his head and laughed.

            “Wish I had a camera,” Rick said.  “You never smile.”

            For a moment, Turnbull felt like he was overseas again.  Not in the heat of combat, not patrolling through the jungle, but back on base mentally preparing himself to go out on a mission.  The only difference was the lack of alcohol.

            “You wanted to see me?”

            Turnbull craned his neck towards the sound of Helen’s voice.  She’d sounded frail and almost shy.  It was a total contrast to the impression she’d given him the previous night.  As she stood in the doorway, Helen’s eyes continuously scanned the space around her as if she thought someone was there.

            “You said you’re a sniper?”

            She nodded.

            “Come here,” he said.

            Helen did as instructed.

            “They’re probably going to send in an armored troop transport and a helicopter.  We don’t have anything heavy enough to easily shoot a helicopter out of the sky, but I can take out the pilot or any gunmen inside if I have a clear shot.  The real problem is going to be the transport.  They’re designed for various types of combat and can be used as cover during a fire fight.  I’m worried that they could come up close and either plant explosives or just try to burn us out.”

            Rick looked nervous, but kept his mouth shut.

            “The windows are armored, but they have a few weak spots.  The driver needs to see out, so you should be able to get a clear shot if he drives straight forward.  You may also be able to get a few shots in at the gunmen inside.”

            “I’ve seen these transports before.  They have an opened cross section in the window’s armor.”

            “Good,” Turnbull said.  “I’m going to need you on the second and third floors.  I think it would be next to impossible to get those shots off from the roof.”

            “Helen nodded.”

            “We also have a limited number of C4 packs.  We might get a lucky hit.  If you need any support, you can talk to George Lindsey.  He’s in charge of the lower level defenses.  He’s wearing a denim jacket over a yellow T-shirt.”

            “Thanks,” Helen said.

            Before she turned to leave, Turnbull called out to her.

            “I almost forgot, watch out for traps.  I’ve set a few at key entry points.”

            “Thanks for the heads up,” she said and disappeared through the doorway.

            “She’s a sniper?” Rick asked.  “Are you sure about her?”

            “She has more combat experience than a lot of our men.”

            “What aren’t you telling me?  She’s just a teenaged girl.”

            “Helen’s more worldly than you know.  When we get out of this, you can ask her about it.”

            Rick’s hand shook as he took a deep breath.  He raised his forearm halfway to his face, and then paused.  After a moment the hand dropped.

            “Thirty men may not seem like much, but we can’t afford to lose them over nothing.  They each have people counting on them.”

            “This won’t be for nothing.”

            “I want to trust you, Gideon, I really do.”

            “I won’t stop you and your men from leaving.”

            “Damn it!  Don’t do this to me.  You know I won’t abandon you.”

            “Then be strong for your troops.  And put on a pair of gloves.  It’s probably best if they don’t see those finger tips.”

Table of Contents

This web page is property of Josh Thompson and any violation will result in a severe crack in the skull! Have a nice day : )