DUSK 2
“What the hell was that?” Olmstead
shouted.
Without answering, Buckingham
reached for his handheld radio and called the guard stations. The hiss of static answered him. Olmstead flipped the switch to activate the
building’s intercom system.
“This is your commander. We are at a code red. Repeat a code red.”
A code red situation meant either
the compound was under attack or the walls had been breached by large numbers
of the undead. Any militia personnel
were to arm themselves immediately and the long range communications operators
were to call out for reinforcements and lock their doors. If the short range communication wasn’t
working, maybe the more powerful antenna would be able to reach someone. In a worst case scenario, the only help that
could come in time was the attack force he’d sent out earlier. By now they were an hour off.
Olmstead hoped it was an isolated
attack.
Remaining at his desk, Olmstead
switched channels to speak to sections of the building. He barked orders at some. Others, he probed for status reports. Nobody seemed to know anything, but the
radios were out and all of his contacts were inside of the building.
“I need to move you to a safe
location,” Buckingham said.
“Give me a moment,” Olmstead replied.
Even after sixty years of age,
Olmstead was still graceful. He glided
to the closet and snatched two rifles, tossing one to Buckingham. They were both thirty caliber semi-automatics. He then tossed three spare magazines to
Buckingham, pocketing three more for himself.
Both men already carried side arms and knives.
After tossing on a camouflage
jacket, Olmstead followed Buckingham through the doorway. Since entering a room or hallway was
potentially hazardous, Buckingham had been trained to enter first. Still, the rear wasn’t complete safety. Olmstead kept watch of their backsides, just
in case an attacker was already inside of the building.
When they reached the stairway, they
moved down. There was a helicopter on
the roof but if the enemy was armed with rocket propelled grenades they’d be
easy targets. Their best bet was to
navigate the underground tunnels.
Sirens sounded outside as word of
the red alert spread. Soldiers were to
man their posts and fight against any threat.
They were down two flights of steps when the gunfire started.
*
Ron was on guard duty in the south
tower when the wall exploded. Before he
knew it, hundreds, no thousands of the undead were flooding the compound. Minutes later when the red alert sounded,
their moans drowned out the sirens. He
could faintly hear gun fire in the distance.
His tower’s telephone rang, but Ron had his own problems. Though he didn’t have enough ammunition to
even dent the incoming mob, he signaled to the guard in the tower across from
him and they both opened fire.
The towers were sturdy so they were
safe as long as the undead hadn’t learned how to set explosive charges. If they could hold the undead’s attention,
maybe they could keep them at the foot of the towers until whatever was going
on inside sorted itself out.
They made as much noise as they
could and tried to drop any zombie that walked towards the center of the
compound, but there were too many of them.
*
Tori was on her lunch break when she
heard the sirens.
Damn,
she thought, tossing down a half eaten sandwich. She’d been hoping to catch some rest, but the
medical center was bound to be flooded.
Before her sandwich hit the floor, she was out of the break room and at
the front door, helping the janitor and two other nurses secure the first
floor. She was too young to remember
when the dead had first started to walk, but she was glad to live in a society
that was ready for them.
*
“The radios aren’t working,” Lou
said as static hissed. “That means
they’re deaf and mute.”
Their convoy was already converging
on the entrances, cutting off any exit.
They could blockade the building, but getting in would be the hard
part. The command center was equipped
with an intercom system that would allow Olmstead to communicate with his troops. There were enough windows to give snipers
hundreds of nests and there were at least fifty soldiers in the building. The connecting garage would provide cover,
but it was obvious. An ambush or perhaps
blockade would be waiting.
When the undead converged on the
building, both sides would have their hands full, but time was of the
essence. Olmstead was likely finding a
way to slip out and if he escaped, this assault was for nothing. The helicopter on the roof wasn’t a likely
escape, but there were the tunnels.
Gunshots and moans sounded in the
distance. Rifles poked out of the second
and third story windows, firing a volley at Lou’s convoy. Along with Catherine and the rest of the
soldiers, he took cover behind their jeep.
It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being out in the open.
*
Long after he and his fellow guard
ran out of ammunition for their rifles, ghouls continued to pour through the
gap in the wall. The other guard pulled
his sidearm and opened on the undead. He
had probably thirty rounds, not enough to make any kind of difference.
The phone began to ring again. This time, Ron plucked it off of the holder
on the wall. Putting the receiver to his
right ear, Ron plugged his left.
“What’s your status?” the voice on
the other end asked.
“Stuck. Some of the undead are crowding around our
towers. Most are heading into town. Both of us are out of ammo. What the hell is going on?”
“An attack. There’s a firefight over at HQ. I’ve been ordered to take a motorized unit
that way. Just sit tight and let us know
if anything changes?”
“How? The radios are down. We’ll be out of touch when you’re on the
road.”
“Just sit tight then.”
*
As Sergeant Fredrickson returned the
phone to the cradle a Corporal ran into the room and saluted.
“At ease.”
“Sergeant, we’re ready for
deployment.”
“Let’s go kick some ass.”
Within five minutes, ten jeeps
rolled out. All of them were fitted with
50 caliber machine guns. They were far
from ideal for fighting the undead, but they were great for taking down armed,
live resistance. As they rolled through
town, the cavalry spotted several civilians taking sniper positions on the
rooftops of secured buildings. Even the
old man who ran the movie theater was out, holding a World War II era Springfield
M1903. He waved as they passed.
It wasn’t long before they slammed
into the mob of undead. Bodies crunched
under their tires. Without radio
guidance, many of the soldiers in the other jeeps opened fire. Before they could scatter, the Sergeant waved
at his troops to follow. They circled
around an unmanned supply depot and retreated about a half a block away from
the undead.
“Holy shit, Sarge! There are
thousands of them,” one of the other drivers said.
Their orders were to bypass the
undead and protect HQ, but there was a very good chance that that many undead
could smash their way into the secured buildings. Even if they quelled the rebellion, the
undead might still be able to get into the main building. They were the only mobile unit around and the
undead were more of an immediate threat.
Besides, the Sergeant didn’t see any way to keep his troops from
expending their ammunition on the undead as they went through.
“Okay, let’s give ‘em hell,” he
said. “Form a line. As they pop through this line of buildings I
want you to open up with your 50 Cals.”
Though not ideal, the machine guns
were effective against large mobs. They
could cut a body in half and shatter bones.
A lucky strike would shatter a skull, and the shells would travel
through multiple corpses. They just had
to be careful not to kill any civilians in the surrounding buildings.
“Wait for them to pour through and
only hose down the crowd. The rest of us
will pick off any wanderers. If they get
close, we back off and regroup.”
By the time he could say something
reassuring his voice was drowned out by the roar of machine gun fire. Undead bits and limbs flew in every direction
as the high caliber rounds tore through their bodies. Many of them dropped and didn’t get up. Others clawed their way across the ground.
When a few of them broke off from
the crowd, several other soldiers opened fire, taking careful aim to make every
shot count. The Sergeant joined them.
*
“Is this your brilliant plan?”
Catherine asked.
“Just stay down and try not to get
hit!”
Before his sentence was completed,
there were flashes in two third story windows; one right after the other. They were accompanied by gunshots and a body
tumbled out of one of the windows. More
shots sounded inside of the building as several snipers abandoned their posts
to take on the enemy inside.
A minute later, the front door
opened. A figure stepped outside, hands
up with his rifle slung over his shoulder.
He raised his right hand a little higher and made a circle out of his
thumb and index finger.
“That’s the signal,” one of Lou’s
men said.
“Okay, you four with us. The rest of you provide cover. We don’t know how many snipers are left up
there.”
Lou and his men charged towards the
front door as the other man disappeared inside.
Catherine ran after them. When
she was about halfway to the door, snipers began firing from the windows. She didn’t know if it was just one or if
there were ten. Bullets whizzed by as
she zig zagged. Then they abruptly
turned towards the jeeps as the covering soldiers exchanged fire.
“Fuck me!” Lou shouted. “You should have stayed out there.”
“Don’t even start.”
*
The gun shots were a floor
below. As soon as they started, Truax
grabbed his .45 and black bag and hurried towards the stairway. Even if the invaders were slaughtered, one of
the defenders might have taken the opportunity to make Truax disappear. Most people hated him for both his profession
and his needs. Hiding in the safety of
his confessional presented too much of a risk.
He needed to get outside of the walls.
If Olmstead regained control, he’d welcome his favored
interrogator. If not, Truax would have to
survive in exile.
The men fighting in the hallways
were too concerned with each other to worry about one man slipping out a back
way. As far as they were concerned, he
possessed no immediate threat. After
crossing into the temporary safety of the garage, Truax hopped into a jeep and
started the engine. Ignoring the posted
speed limits, he barreled down a level and stopped at the blockade. They were aiming their weapons outside, but
two of the troops pointed their rifles straight at Truax’s face and moved
towards him.
“I’ve been ordered to evacuate,” he
lied.
“Let him through!”
Perhaps his exit was so easy because
the soldier didn’t care. Perhaps it’s
because he recognized Truax. He’d never
know.
As soon as he passed the blockade,
Truax pushed down on the accelerator. A
couple of the invading soldiers turned their rifles at Truax’s jeep as he sped
past them, but they mainly concentrated on the windows. He saw one soldier drop and another soldier
quickly put a round in his comrade’s head.
From what he’d heard over the
intercom, there was a hole in the wall.
If he could make it out, he’d be safe.
He just needed to find the undead and hope they weren’t too densely
packed to crash through.
His reflexes weren’t what they once
were. On a few of the turns, Truax
struggled to keep control of the jeep.
He had to drive at slower speeds than he liked to avoid slamming into a
building, but when he reached the undead he had no trouble smashing through
them.
Not long after he entered the mob of
undead, he could head the familiar drumming of machinegun fire. From between some of the buildings, he caught
glimpses of the blasting guns and before he realized he was in front of them, a
stray round flew into his front, driver side tire. After an initial pop, Truax lost control and
his jeep slammed into a supply depot.
The good news was that he wasn’t in
reach of the undead. They were a few
yards off and he wasn’t injured. With agility
he didn’t know his body still possessed, Truax swung his door opened and dashed
out of the jeep. He continued running to
the nearest door and pounded. After the
door knob didn’t budge when he tried to turn it, Truax drew his pistol and
fired twice. The lock broke and he was
able to push his way into the supply depot.
Seeing no escape route, he
immediately regretted his decision. The
door wouldn’t hold an assault and with no way out, he was better off
outside. When he turned to the doorway,
the undead were already funneling inside.
The room was dark and Truax couldn’t see to his sides, only towards the
doorway.
Dropping the black bag with his
conversational aids, Truax drew his pistol and fired. One zombie dropped. He caught another in the chest and neck. A fourth shot dropped a second ghoul. Before he though to step back, they were on
him, savaging his body. One of them bit
into his arm. Another gnawed at his
side. Two ghouls pushed and shoved each
other as they each attempted to grab his left leg.
At first, he felt nothing but
distain for their blunt lack of artistry.
Then he felt an excruciating ecstasy.
The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt in his life.
Oh
the beautiful pain!
*
“He’s already underground,” their
inside contact said as two of the soldiers exchanged fire with guards in the
hall.
Lou wished this could have been a
bloodless coupe, but he’d known better than to expect it. There were only two guards downstairs and
they were moving backwards, probably trying to regroup in the stairwell with
reinforcements. Mixed with the shots
upstairs and outside, it was impossible to tell how many people were firing.
One of the guards went down and so
did one of Lou’s men. He was dead before
he hit the ground. The bullet had
punched straight through the solder’s chest and exploded out of his back. After taking a moment to close his
subordinate’s eyes, Lou pulled out his sidearm and shot the corpse once in the
head. He did the same when they moved to
where the guard had fallen. Without
backup, his friend ran down the hall.
He’d been lucky as hell, not getting shot.
After they rounded a corner the
stairwell door was in sight. When they
were halfway down the hallway, a door swung opened behind them and the pop of
gunfire filled the hallway. Lou spun
around in time to see one of his soldiers collapse. Another took a round to the leg. Catherine was on him, inspecting the
wound. The rest of the soldiers
scrambled for cover, finding none. The
remaining guard hadn’t found backup.
Instead he had an ambush point.
Lou, his remaining soldier, and
their contact opened fire. The guard
ducked behind the wall, but their bullets shredded the door. Lou’s soldier plucked a grenade from his
pocket, pulled the pin, and chucked it.
The spinning pineapple arced beautifully through a missing section of
the door before exploding. The sturdy,
reinforced concrete walls blocked any shrapnel from the explosion, protecting
the soldiers in the hallway as the guard inside of the room was likely turned
into cottage cheese.
The two mobile soldiers broke off
from Lou, Catherine, and the wounded man.
They approached the doorway with caution, and then poked their rifles
inside, opening fire.
“Is he dead?” Lou asked.
“He is now,” his contact replied.
“Can he be moved?” Lou asked
Catherine.
“Yeah. Just keep him conscious. I’ll need time to loosen the tourniquet but
he’ll make it.”
Lou moved to the fallen soldier, but
before he could make sure he stayed asleep he noticed that half of the
soldier’s head was already missing.
Catherine and the contact held the
wounded soldier up and began walking.
Lou pointed at his other soldier and ordered him to cover the rear. With no choice but to move slowly, they made
their way to the stairwell.
“Are you sure this is where they
went?” Catherine asked.
“I know this place pretty damned
well. It’s an evacuation post, but we
also keep it stocked with plenty of rations.
I spent the early part of my career guarding this base and I know the
tunnels.”
“How do you know they’re not gone
already?”
“Last night when your young friends
escaped, I gave them directions to a fully stocked jeep. It’s a means of escape in just this kind of
situation. Olmstead had two backups, but
the locations were raided last week. He
hasn’t had a chance to pick out a new location.
Those tunnels exit into urban wilderness. The only two options Olmstead will have are
to return to the compound or stay underground.”
*
They caught a glimpse of a jeep
taking the hit and saw it lose control.
Sergeant Fredrickson wondered what it was doing there, but only for a
moment as the undead were getting a little too close. Pausing a moment from his shooting, the Sergeant
tapped his driver on the shoulder and signaled him to drive backwards. The other jeeps followed and several of the
soldiers took the opportunity to check their ammunition.
Instead of moving backwards in a
straight line, the jeeps turned so their grills were aimed parallel to the road
and they shot forward until they found another open space. Before the .50’s opened up again, the
Sergeant ordered one of his troops to check through their ordinance and
distribute anti-personnel explosives and fire bombs to the other soldiers. They where a last resort, but again could do
some damage. The fire was important
because it was the only thing the undead feared. If they needed a quick barrier, the fire
might provide it.
Again, the machineguns erupted,
dropping shattered bodies.
*
By the time Lou had the stairwell
door opened, he could hear the undead outside; their moans overpowering the
rifle shots. He hoped the remaining
snipers were taken out soon because his men outside were going to have to
either retreat or storm the building.
With a hail of bullets, either option would be hazardous.
“I had to bust the lock on that door
before opening it,” their contact said.
“They’ll get inside.”
“Even if you hadn’t there’s no way
I’d go back to close the front door,” Lou told him.
“There’s no way he’ll make it
through those tunnels,” Catherine said.
“We’ll have to get him
upstairs. The doorways on each floor are
pretty solid.”
“Do it,” Lou told him. Pointing to an opened maintenance panel, he
said: “I’m going after Olmstead.” To his
remaining soldier: “You’re with me.”
As they crawled trough the opening,
Catherine looked to the contact.
“Do you have experience with field
wounds?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Without another word, she lunged
after the others.
*
Outside, scattered mobs of the
undead began to converge on the center of the compound. Though thinned by the attackers inside, a
handful of remaining snipers picked off the attacking soldiers as they climbed
into their jeeps and sped off. As the
force outside stopped firing on the building and pulled away, most of the
snipers either concentrated their fire on the undead or pulled away to check on
the fight raging within their walls.
Aware that the compound’s first
floor entrance had been compromised, one gunman abandoned his nest to secure
the second story stairwell landing. He
was greeted by another gunman. Though
he’d been tending to a wounded soldier, the newcomer had his rifle aimed at the
sniper’s head. In turn, the sniper had
his rifle trained on the other man.
“We have to secure this entry. The front door’s been blasted off,” the
newcomer said.
“How do I know you’re not with
them?”
“Does it matter any more?”
Just then, the sniper realized that
most of the fighting upstairs had ceased.
There were several shots being fired, but the gunmen could have been
aiming outside at the undead or making sure their own casualties stayed down.
“I suppose it doesn’t.”
Both men lowered their guns, but neither
looked away.