Indestructible: V Plague Book 7 (2 page)

I don’t know how much time passed.  I wanted to shout for
Katie or Rachel or Martinez or Zemeck or anyone.  But concern over alerting
more infected to my presence kept me quiet.  I struggled with the metal that
had me trapped, but it was immovable, at least from the position I was in.  I
must have tried to reach the second holster buckle a hundred times, but I don’t
think I ever came close.

The blood had crusted on my head and face, and I could feel
several small cuts and one large gash on my skull.  The smaller ones had
clotted and stopped bleeding, but the multi-inch laceration that started on the
top of my head and continued down through my right eyebrow was open and raw,
still weeping.  I made the mistake of touching it once, the pain enough to
prevent me from trying it a second time.

The blow that had caused the wound had also given me another
concussion.  It had only been a couple of days since I was knocked goofy when a
bullet fired through the head of an infected by Irina had grazed my temple. 
While I had been feeling normal, I’ve had enough concussions in my day to know
they don’t completely heal that quickly, and it’s not good to get another one while
still recovering from the first.

A headache and nausea were the most telling symptoms of the
damage.  I suspected I’d also have double vision if I were ever able to get out
and see anything in the daylight.  Not worrying about something I was unable to
do anything about at the moment, I looked over my situation again.  Nothing was
different or new since the last time, or the several dozen times before that. 
I was stuck and it wasn’t looking like I’d be able to get myself free.

Then, I wasn’t sure I wanted to get free.  Free to do what? 
Find Katie dead?  Rachel and Dog, too, as well as the rest of my group?  They
had to be dead.  They wouldn’t have left me behind.  What the hell did it
matter if I got free if everyone in the world I cared about was dead?  Get free
to spend the rest of my days fighting the infected?  To what end? 

Maybe I was better off to just stay right here and relax. 
Lack of water would finish me off in two or three days at the most.  With a
sigh of resignation I laid my head back and closed my eyes.  Dying of
dehydration wouldn’t be pleasant.  Maybe I’d just stick the muzzle of the rifle
in my mouth and end it all before the pain and thirst got too bad.  “That’s
what I’ll do”, I thought to myself a moment before I lost consciousness.

I don’t know how long I was out, but it was dark when I
woke.  Not that I could tell the difference in my little metal cave, but if I craned
my head around just right I could see past my feet and into the open.  Terrain
that had been clearly visible in bright sunshine earlier was now hidden by the
night.  Dark night that hid predators. 

Not wolves or mountain lions, or anything like that.  It was
the two legged variety that was so dangerous, especially the females.  And they
were quiet.  Maybe it was because the virus had enhanced their senses, and with
improved hearing came more awareness of the sounds they made.  Perhaps this
helped them to adjust and be stealthy.  Maybe not.  Either way, I didn’t hear
the female approaching until she was within a few feet of me.

The first indication she was there was when I heard her
sniffing the air.  Cautiously, I twisted around and could just faintly make out
a pair of feet standing close to mine.  Afraid if I moved again it would make a
noise and alert her to my presence, I stayed in the uncomfortable position and
barely breathed.  I might be ready to put a gun in my mouth, but I sure as hell
wasn’t ready to be torn apart and eaten by an infected. 

She stood there for a long time, frequently sniffing.  Did
she smell me?  Maybe she did, but there were apparently enough smells of death
in the crashed aircraft to confuse her.  Finally, my screaming muscles and
ligaments couldn’t remain contorted any longer and I slowly straightened my
back and neck.  Not that I was able to move into a comfortable position, but it
was better than a constant fire in every fiber between my head and waist.

I didn’t think I made a sound as I slowly moved my upper
body, but something caught the infected’s attention.  She inhaled sharply and
held her breath, waiting for whatever she’d detected to repeat.  I was frozen
in place, hand gripping the rifle tightly even though I had serious doubts
about being able to use it effectively if she attacked.

There was a thump, then even more pressure on my pinned
body.  She had climbed onto the debris that trapped me.  The sniffing started
again, her new location causing the sound to echo off the hard surfaces inside
the downed Osprey.  That sound sent chills up and down my spine. 

She moved again, a footstep sounding right over my head. 
Pausing, she sniffed then stopped and held her breath.  Had she found me?  Did
she know I was right under her feet and all she had to do was raise the debris
to find a hidden prize?  I thought about revealing myself and hoping the
infected would be able to lift the metal off of me.

They’re strong as hell.  Pound for pound, at least twice as
strong as an uninfected human.  Maybe she could lift the weight, but as I
thought about it I dismissed the idea.  All it would take would be for her to
search around the edges until she found my feet sticking out, then she could
attack.  Sure, I’d been able to kill the male, but he was moving slow, and in
reality I had shot a stationary target.  It wouldn’t be nearly as easy with a
fast and agile female.

I stayed absolutely still and silent.  Breathed shallowly
through my mouth and willed her to grow bored and move on.  That was unlikely,
as I’ve seen the infected demonstrate an amazing degree of patience when they
believe there is prey to be had.  That was the question.  Was she sure enough
something was here that she would wait it out, or was I hidden well enough?

Time stretched out, and more than twenty minutes must have
passed before she finally moved again.  Unfortunately not back out, but a few
steps in the direction I’d come to think of as farther into the aircraft.  She
took two steps on the metal object covering me, then stepped off and slipped as
lose debris shifted under her weight. 

Numerous metallic objects fell to the deck, making a hell of
a racket.  Something that I couldn’t identify in the dark struck me in the
face, opening another small cut, and remained pressing tightly against me.  I
could tell it was a smooth metal rod of some sort, but nothing else. 

When the debris shifted the female must have leapt backwards
to stable footing because there was a thump I could feel in my legs and the
object pinning me down shifted slightly.  My heart leapt and I was hardly able
to contain my excitement.  It shifted!  If it shifted, it could be moved!  Had
she dislodged something that was holding it in place?  Didn’t know and didn’t
care.  Just wanted her to get the hell out of there so I could try to get free
again.  I’d decided I wanted to live after all.

The female finally moved back outside the Osprey, but not
before she had prowled around most of the interior.  There was apparently a lot
of wreckage strewn about as she took to jumping from spot to spot in her
inspection.  Before her departure, she leapt onto the metal over me a final
time, slipping and sending another collection of debris crashing to the deck. 

I cringed at the noise, afraid it would attract other
infected, but also excited when I felt another small shift.  Once she departed
I waited half an hour, calmly counting off the time in my head before I dared
to move.  I had no idea if she had just stepped out into the night and was
standing there waiting to see what happened, or if she had headed out in search
of a meal.

When I felt it was safe to move, I reached up and grasped
the metal rod that had hit me in the face.  It was curved with hard edges and I
realized it was a rib, or strut, or whatever the proper aviation term is for
the internal structure that supports the smooth skin of an aircraft.  Pulling,
I worked it under the metal plate and down alongside my body.

The curve was sharp and I had to rotate the strut to get it
to fit, stopping when I felt the end move past my hips.  Turning my upper body,
I wrapped my hands around the metal, took a deep breath and pushed.  It moved a
couple of inches, raising the metal that had me trapped, then the curved edge
slipped and I banged my fists onto something hard enough to skin all my
knuckles and draw blood.

Exhaling slowly, fighting the pain, I took another breath as
I turned the strut to a new angle.  Pushing again, I felt it start to slip before
catching an irregularity on the surface of the plate that was trapping me. 
With renewed effort I pushed, barely able to stifle the scream of effort that
wanted to erupt from my throat.

With excruciating slowness, the pressure on my hips and legs
lessened.  Arms shaking from exertion I turned my lower body until I was
straight, ass flat against the floor.  Strength waning, I slowly lowered the makeshift
lever.  I expected the pressure to come back on my legs, but it didn’t.  The
strut let the plate down, no longer supporting its considerable weight, and I
could wiggle my hips freely.

Pushing the lever out of my way, I breathed a relieved sigh
and started squirming my way free.  It took several minutes, and I had to move numerous
large pieces of wreckage that were tumbled near my head, but I eventually stood
up.  Immediately I bent to rub my throbbing legs, taking the opportunity to
look around.

From my new perspective I realized that the Osprey had come
to rest on its roof.  I had been pinned beneath a section of the floor decking
that had torn lose when we crashed.  A large hole was ripped in the side of the
fuselage to my right, the rear door completely missing.  The daylight I’d been
able to see earlier had been through the opening where the rear ramp had once
been.

Night vision goggles had been on my head when I’d boarded at
the casino, but they were nowhere to be found.  I didn’t waste much time
looking for them, deciding to throw caution to the wind and show a light.  I
was more concerned with knowing what had happened to Katie and everyone else
than I was with being spotted by an infected.  I was free and able to fight if
the female came back.

The short Sig rifle had a small, high-intensity flashlight clipped
on the right side rail.  Clicking it on, I got a good look at the interior of
the Osprey.  What had been a Spartan space that was free of clutter was now
hardly recognizable.  Wreckage was everywhere.  The seats that had been pulled
free to make room for Katie and Martinez had almost certainly become large
missiles from the force of the crash.

Ignoring the damage, I started looking for bodies, finding
several.  The first was the infected soldier I’d killed as he tried to snack on
my leg.  The two Marines who had accompanied Zemeck were tumbled within a pile
of seats, both appearing to have died during the crash.  Another Army uniform
caught my eye, white bone poking through the heavy fabric in a couple of places. 
The soldier’s neck was at an unnatural angle and almost certainly broken.

There weren’t any other bodies inside the aircraft other
than the two pilots.  They were still strapped into their seats, hanging upside
down, both quite dead.  Looking at the large holes in the side and rear of the
Osprey, I turned off the light and stepped out into the night.  I expected to
find bodies strewn in the wake of our crash, and I wasn’t wrong.

Immediately outside, I encountered the remains of what had
to be the small boy.  There was nothing left other than shredded clothing,
bones and a lot of blood that had soaked into the soil.  Not bothering to scan
the area for infected, or other threats, I ran to the closest body.  A female,
most likely infected and her throat most certainly torn out by Dog.  I found
four more dead females, then spotted a male form.

I bypassed it when I saw the Army uniform, my breath
catching when I saw a crumpled form with lots of exposed skin gleaming in the
moonlight.  Katie had been forced to wear a thong and a small, frilly bra by
her captors, and was still barely dressed when we got on the aircraft.

Relief flooded through me when I got close enough to the
body to see the blonde hair.  I didn’t need to check anything else.  Katie had
tried blonde, once, many years ago.  It hadn’t worked and she had stayed with
her natural red ever since. 

Moving on, I found two more soldiers and another dead
infected female.  Looking ahead, back down the raw score carved in the ground
by our crash, I didn’t see any more bodies.  Scanning to the sides I spotted
more to my left.  Two more of the scantily clad women.  One of them had long,
dark hair and a very similar build to Katie.  I only had to check her hip.  The
absence of the small, unique tattoo was all the confirmation I needed to be
certain this wasn’t my wife.  Then I found my friend.   

Master Gunnery Sergeant Matt Zemeck was on his back, head
turned up as if he were looking at the stars.  A large piece of jagged metal protruded
from his chest and his right leg was bent back at an impossible angle.  I stood
looking down at him, trying to process his death.

There’s always someone you encounter in life, especially in
the military, who seems larger than life.  Indestructible.  Like they could
walk into hell itself, rip Satan’s heart out and be back in time for a cold
beer with their friends.  That had been Matt.  Now he was gone, trying to help
me.

I knelt and opened his vest, removing his dog tags.  I
dipped my head to slip the chain around my neck and paused when something that
didn’t belong caught my eye.  A thin, silver oval was nestled between the two,
rubber encased tags.  Holding it up to the moonlight I recognized Chris, his
wife, who had died during the attacks in New York.  Saying goodbye to my
friend, I put the dog tags in place and stood to continue my search. 

After five minutes of sweeping the area I didn’t find any
other bodies.  One soldier missing.  Two of the women rescued from the casino
missing.  Stephanie and the other kid were nowhere to be found.  No Katie,
Rachel, Martinez or Dog.  What the hell?

Climbing back into the Osprey I used the light to conduct a
more thorough search of the debris.  I didn’t think I could have missed them,
and the dead females indicated Dog had survived the crash, but where the hell
were they?  Ten minutes later I had checked everywhere large enough to conceal
a body and went back outside.

Light off, I started walking a circle around the crash site,
expanding the radius from the aircraft on each lap.  I kept this up until I had
circled beyond the initial impact point.  There weren’t any more bodies to be
found. 

With a start I realized I hadn’t been looking for everything
I should have.  I was so focused on finding bodies that I hadn’t been looking
for tracks.  We had come down in a large field that was growing something green
and low to the ground that I couldn’t identify.  The soil was soft and loose,
and I cursed my own stupidity for stumbling around and mucking up any tracks that
had to be present.

  It didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for.  A
large group had approached the crash sight from the east.  I was able to
identify more than ten different sets of tracks, some of them barefoot.  Squatting
over them I reached down and lightly touched the ground.

Where the toes and balls of their feet had come down, they
had struck the ground with a lot of force, pushing deeply into the rich soil. 
The people who had left these marks were running at a sprint.  Female infected.

I tried to get a better count, but couldn’t find an area
where they hadn’t run on top of each other’s footprints.  There were several of
them was the best I could come up with.  Standing, I turned to go get a count
of dead females and examine them more closely.  Looking at the ground as I
turned I moved right into the grasp of an infected male.  It was the missing
soldier.

He wrapped me up instantly, pulling against me like he was
trying to give a bear hug.  His head lunged forward, teeth snapping and I nearly
lost a chunk of my face before I got my right hand up and on his throat.  My
left arm was pinned between our bodies and if I released the grip on him to
reach for a weapon his teeth would be tearing me open in a heartbeat.

Struggling, I tried to break away, pushing hard and moving
his head back, but was unable to loosen the arms circling my body.  Squeezing
with my right hand I hoped to cut off his air, or the blood supply to his brain,
but he seemed impervious to my efforts. 

My left arm was straight down between our bodies, and as I
grunted with the exertion of keeping his teeth away I realized exactly where my
hand was.  Turning my wrist I grabbed between his legs, adjusting until his
testicles were firmly in my hand.  With a solid grip I pulled and squeezed with
all my strength. 

He didn’t react in the slightest.  His arms didn’t relax an
ounce of pressure and he never wavered in his attempts to bite.  Continuing to
apply pressure I felt one of his balls rupture, then twisted and applied force
to the second one until it gave with another sickening pop.  He never flinched
and showed no awareness of an injury that would normally put the meanest,
toughest man in the world on the ground.