The Dead Series (Book 3): Dead Line (17 page)

In fact, it would probably go down as honourable; the guy was famous for being the less-talented brother of Julia Roberts, though in some photographs they appeared to be the same person.

Bernstein pulled the trigger. Eric Roberts's eyes rolled up to the sky, as if asking God a question in the last moment before his brain ceased functioning for the second time.

Why did you make Julia better than me?

Without pause, Bernstein swung the sights across and targeted on the next poor bastard in his firing-line. He was almost relieved to stare down on a less-prominent figure, someone who had been no-one in life. If Morgan Freeman had been staggering through the neighbourhood, Bernstein would have been reluctant to pull the trigger.

This creature was black, but it wasn't Morgan Freeman, and thinking it might be was only delaying the inevitable.

Ptttt
.

The bullet hit the creature squarely, and it somersaulted backwards, landing in a heap beside a charity deposit-point.

'Are you still there?' Bernstein softly spoke into his headset. 'Sniper Two, do you copy?'

'I'm here,' the tremulous voice replied. 'Did you just take out Eric Roberts?'

Bernstein laughed. 'You saw that, huh? I thought it was him. Didn't know he was was recognisable.'

Two creatures fell as Sniper Two fired beautifully into the horde. It was good to know he was still functioning, albeit slowly.

'I was gonna shoot him myself,' Sniper Two said. 'Falcone sucked.'

'Don't remember that one,' Bernstein said as he fired two shots into the horde, decapitating a creature completely. 'I shot him for Best Of The Best.'

The sea of undead continued to push forward; their groaning was unbearable, enough to drive even the stablest of men insane.

The whole thing reminded Bernstein of a fairy-tale his mother used to read him as child.

The Pied Piper Of Hamelin.

These things were the rats, their insatiable hunger was the piper. They crawled, clambered, shambled and staggered incessantly forward, hoping to find flesh to sate their madness, and Bernstein wanted to end their misery, each and every one of them.

They were fighting an impossible enemy, though. Their sheer numbers were their main advantage. It didn't matter that they were slow, or afflicted; what mattered was: they wouldn't stop to get at you. They would climb over the dead bodies of those fallen in front to reach you.

How could you beat an enemy of such indifference?

As if in reply to his question, something blew by overhead. Bernstein looked up, not knowing what to expect, and when he saw what had been responsible, he knew that they could beat such an incessant beast.

'Is that the Wave Hawk?' Sniper Two's voice crackled down by Bernstein's feet.

'It is,' Bernstein said.

He reloaded and continued to take down the enemy.

*

Being up above them was even worse than existing on the ground-level alongside them. Staring down into the ocean of flailing limbs, bloodied stumps and half-devoured faces served as a constant reminder of the creatures' extended mortality, and also reminded Dredd of the shit they would be in if the chopper malfunctioned on any level.

Al, in the back of the Wave Hawk, had already begun to chop through them with the mounted M60s. There were two M50 grenade-launchers available, but Dredd didn't think they would need them.

Though if Al was in charge, the chances were increased exponentially.

The noise from the M60s was terrific; more than enough to drown out the monotone drone from below and the racket of the rotors above. Bodies fell like dominoes as Al whipped the machine-gun from left to right, spraying into the horde as assuredly as Dredd had anticipated.

The man was a maniac, that was for sure, but he was good at what he did, and Pimlico had had no choice but to reinstate the lunatic in order to get Dredd up in the air to stop the encroaching throng.

Dredd looked down at the snipers on their towers as they flew by. Snipers One and Two – the guys who had been unfortunately positioned over on the side of the fracas and emerging creatures – were no longer firing at the horde.

They were
waving
.

They were smiling, and waving, happy at the appearance of the hovering, steel saviour taking care of business much more effectively than they could.

Dredd flicked them a thumbs-up before whipping the Wave Hawk away from the towers, deeper into the horde.

It was funny, watching them fall, unable to see the bullets tearing through them but knowing that they were. Dredd could picture Al in the back, having the time of his life.

Like a pig in shit
, or something to that effect.

The noise was such that he couldn't hear anything other than guns, but he had a feeling – more of an undercurrent – that Al was whooping at the top of his lungs as the horde dropped to the ground, their lifeless bodies twitching harmlessly as the last of the undeath left them.

*

The word past down the row of snipers like Chinese Whispers. Bernstein relayed the news to Sniper Two –
Blanc
, he was pretty certain the guy had French ancestors now that he thought about it - and Blanc informed the sniper a quarter of a mile away, and so on and so forth until all eight of them were aware of the Wave Hawk's intervention.

It was like watching something from a Michael Bay movie. The creatures fell; the helicopter shifted and began to attack from a different angle, and in the end there would be only one result.

Bernstein watched. One thought kept running through his mind.

What would've happened if the chopper hadn't turned up?

There was no way they would have been able to hold of the onslaught. They were outnumbered, and even if more snipers had been ordered to Tower One and Two, it just wouldn't have been enough.

'I could watch this all day long,' Bernstein chortled into his headset.

'Many more?' Blanc asked.

Bernstein scanned the ground. The majority of the things had already fallen, and only smaller hordes were emerging from the trees to the west.

'Almost over,' he informed Blanc. Secretly, he was relieved. 'The general made a good call here today.'

Silence, and then Blanc said, 'You can say that again. Shit, Bernstein, I think I need new pants.'

And so the creatures failed to penetrate Bay St. Louis thanks to the fire-power of their only helicopter and the audacity of one pilot and an insane gunner.

It was 5:15 when the last creature fell.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The train was fucked. Terry had stipulated his list of requirements to get the thing fixed, and had been rewarded with only two.

The guy upstairs clearly wasn't helping.

That wasn't to say he couldn't make it run; he could. An hour spent working on the fluid-couplings, another hour flushing the engine and refilling it, and the locomotive would probably run as sweet as a nut.

But it was time they didn't have.

He was worried about the sentries. All of them were tired, though Shane would never admit it, and there was something about Lukas that made Terry's skin crawl.

The guy was clearly unstable. The fear in his own wife's eyes as he ordered her around was enough to clarify that the man who they had no choice but to trust was something of a loose cannon. Terry almost wished they had taken a different road, evaded the strange family completely.

'I used to have one like this,' a tiny voice said from the left side of the busted locomotive. Terry leaned across to discover River and Saul standing down on the track. ''Course, mine was a lot smaller, and made of Meccano.'

Terry wiped the wrench he had been using on a rag and smiled. 'I don't suppose you know how to get one moving, do you?'

River laughed. 'If I did,' she said, 'I'd be the one up there, sweating buckets, wouldn't I?'

She had a point.

'But from what I do know,' she continued, and Terry was all ears, 'the engine needs lubricating. You won't be able to run it from dry.'

Saul stood, mouth agape, unsure of what was passing between the old man and the machete-girl. He would have been rendered speechless if he wasn't already mute.

'Is that so?' Terry said, his silvery eyebrows knitting together. 'And how come you know so much about engines all of a sudden?' It was stupid to ask River anything like this, for she always had an answer that would, nine times out of ten, blow your mind.

'
Tractors
,' she spat, grinning. 'I was a farm-girl for a while. Daddy used to let me help him clean the tractors up before harvesting. The engines on those old things were in much worse condition than this one.' her smile widened. 'That's a good thing. Means we might get this piece of shit moving before more lurkers come.'

Terry thought about reproaching her for her use of foul language, then decided there was no point. She had every right to swear; she was just as adult as any of the others.

More adult than that prick Lukas.

'Oh, I have no doubt we'll get this badboy running by morning,' Terry said, hoping the news would settle her, or at least ease the nerves of the boy practically clinging onto her for dear life. Saul sighed, glanced across at the hulking machine, before turning his eyes back up to Terry. 'I promise everything's going to be alright,' he said, more to the boy than River.

She could handle herself just fine.

'So what's the deal then?' Terry said as he tucked the wrench into the back of his pants. 'You want me to give you a shout when the engine's ready for a once-over?'

River's face lit up. 'Are you asking for my help?' she smiled. 'I
knew
you'd need my help.' Nonchalantly, she added, 'Yeah, give me a shout when you're ready.'

Terry nodded. 'There's some oil over in that hut, and some rags.'

She was already running away. Saul, the nervous wreck, chased after her.

Terry went back to work on the couplings, though now he had something that wasn't there a moment ago.

A smile.

*

'Motherfucker ain't gonna get that piece of shit moving. No way.'

Lukas lit a cigarette and stared down the shotgun barrel as if checking it wasn't warped.

Abi was frightened. She didn't like Lukas in this mood; she knew what he was capable of, what he might do. It was like watching a pit-bull get cornered, and God-forbid anyone who tried to corner Lukas in the same way.

She placed a placatory hand on his shoulder. 'Everything's gonna be fine,' she said. 'We'll be rid of them soon, and we can take the girl and run, just like we said.'

She hoped it was that easy.

Lukas hawked on the ground and turned to face her. 'That prick in charge thinks he can talk to me like something he trod in,' he said, his face contorted into pure ugliness. Abi hadn't realised until now, but Lukas had aged ten years since Ridgeland. The corners of his eyes extended out into crow's feet, and his lips were puckered like an old lady's as the cigarette bounced around in the corner of his mouth.

'I should just take care of them, now,' Lukas said.

This was exactly what Abi feared. Her mouth dropped open with shock as the enormity of the situation hit her full-on.

'That's not a good idea,' she said, brushing his arm to soothe him. 'We can slip away in the night; just take the kids and go. There's no need to kill 'em all. We can take their weapons while they sleep. We'll be back on the main road by two. Leave them a note or something telling 'em if they try to come after us we'll kill 'em. They won't have no choice, Lukas. We'll have their guns, and they won't risk it.'

He listened, but his expression told Abi he wasn't convinced.

'Nah, I need to end this before it gets out of hand.' He climbed to his feet, tossed the shotgun up into the air and caught/cocked it.

Abi, sensing she only had seconds to make this right, grabbed him by the leg and began to plead.

'Lukas, please, we can do this without more bloodshed. Babe, please, listen to me. I'll talk to the prick . . . I'll make sure he gives you some respect . . . please.'

Lukas glared down at the sobbing nuisance that was his girlfriend. She was a great fuck, but at times she could be melodramatic.

It was annoying.

He sighed, lowered the gun. 'Why do
you
care?' he asked. It was a valid question. Why, all of a sudden, was she so concerned about the well-being of this bunch of shits? Back in Ridgeland she would have loaded the gun for him to take care of the same people. The idea that Abi was changing enraged him further, and he wanted to kick her in the head and march on to slaughter each and every one of the idiots standing in his way.

She gazed up at him; her blurred vision reminded her of why she loved him. Through teary eyes the new wrinkles stretching across his face were invisible, and she saw him as he once was: a behemoth, a
God
. . .

'Let them serve their purpose this afternoon,' she calmly said, biting back more tears. 'We need someone keeping an eye out over on that side. Those fuckers came from nowhere this afternoon; it's safer if we don't put ourselves at any disadvantage.' She paused, rubbed the tears away. 'We'll leave after dark, Lukas. We can do that.'

Lukas pondered in silence. It would have been so simple, so ridiculously uncomplicated, to take the shotgun and blow the three fucking adults away where they stood. With them gone, it would have been just him, Abi, the dummy and that cute little bitch, River.

She was useful.

'If he so much as talks down to me one more time,' Lukas said, poking at the air with the shotgun barrel, 'I'm gonna put a fucking hole in the front of his face so big you'll be able to put your arm through it.'

Abi nodded. 'It won't happen again, babe,' she said. '
You're
in charge here, not him, not none of 'em.'

She climbed to her feet and kissed him.