CHAPTER 33: WELCOME TO THE PARTY
Captain Brooks gunned the bike up the steep, narrow horse trail. It felt good and a little freeing to be able to tear right up the path with little effort. Wu followed closely on her tail, trying to keep up with her. The wind on them was a welcome break from the oppressive jungle heat. Brooks knew it would suck when they eventually joined the others on foot. It had been so long since she had ridden that the captain had forgotten how much she missed it. Suddenly, from near the top of the trail, she could see one of her men emerge, waving his arms for them to stop. Brooks eased up on the throttle as she recognized it as one of the presidents, Jefferson, trying to flag them down. The captain quickly signaled for Wu to slow down in case he hadn't seen Jefferson. As her cycle wound to a stop, Jefferson sprinted over to her.
"Welcome to the party, Captain! Got new orders from the major," Jefferson said, sliding to a halt next to the bike's front tire. "Looks like this is it."
"Great." Brooks slid up her goggles and wiped some dirt from her face. She could feel the heat start to press down on her. "What does he need us to do?"
"Ride," Jefferson smiled. "Ride like the motherfucking wind, Captain."
"I sure as hell can do that, Sergeant," she said, returning his smile. "Sergeant Wu may need a shove though."
"My ass hurts!" Wu said from behind her.
CHAPTER 34: DON'T BE A FUCKING SNAIL
"We are ready, Wolf," Meissner said into the radio as he watched Hoffman load the grenade launcher Klattenhoff had just delivered to them on the rooftop. Hoffman cradled a Vietnam-era M79 grenade launcher in his hands. It never ceased to amaze Meissner of all the weaponry that Klattenhoff had at his disposal. The company spared no expense on armament but couldn't get them a fricking helicopter to fly their asses out of there. What was wrong with this picture? "Hoffman's loading the flash bangs now."
"Good. We are about done here."
"We will fire on your mark, Wolf." Meissner reloaded his rifle. The moaning grew louder as the undead below became more agitated. The rising smell from the surrounding horde was almost unbearable. It seemed the corpses rotted so much quicker in the tropic heat.
"After Hoffman fires off all the grenades, you two head for the Jeeps."
"I have keys for J-3," Meissner said, reaching into his front BDU shirt pocket and finding the key ring.
"Good. You and Hoffman take it and meet us at the airstrip. Take anyone you can with you."
"Will do, Wolf." He glanced over the edge of the roof at the ever-growing crowd of hungry dead and swallowed. He hoped to hell this was going to work. Meissner never was a fast runner. He looked back at Hoffman and chuckled. His father used to tell him a joke about a bear attack; he just had to be faster than the other guy. Meissner set the radio down next to him. "Hoffman."
"Ya." The other man looked up from the grenade launcher that shook slightly in his hands. He too had doubts about what was going to happen.
"You ever run track?" Meissner asked, frowning.
"No." Hoffman squinted. "My daughter does though. Real good sprinter."
"Your side?"
"No, my wife ran on the national team. Me, I'm like a snail."
"Too bad." Meissner looked back down at the hungry mass of meat below.
"You?"
"No." He shook his head. "Fastest I ever ran was from an ex that was going to stab me."
"Well, Meissner, pretend those fucks are your exes, and they have hundreds of knives headed for your balls."
Meissner smiled slightly and glanced down at the silent radio, all thoughts of malice towards Hoffman vanishing. "Hoffman, once we go, stay close to me." He started to get into a firing position. "I'll carry you on my back if I have to. Just don't be a fucking snail."
"Don't worry Meissner, I'll be so far up your ass you'll think I'm Prince Charming." They both chuckled.
"Anything happens to me," Meissner said, "keys are in my left front pocket."
"You're just hoping for me to cop a feel," Hoffman grinned.
"Fuck you, Hoffman." Meissner smiled and shook his head. "You are too ugly for me." Both men laughed as the radio crackled to life.
CHAPTER 35: WHAT'CHA THINKING?
"That was way too close, Nate," Jackson said wiping his forehead with a rag. Despite the cockpit’s air conditioning, the co-pilot was still sweating. "Way, way too close."
"Well." Crossley was watching the vacant tarmac below them. "I told you to bring the gun."
"I know. I know. Probably a good thing I didn’t. I probably would have blown us all up." He finished wiping his face. Crossley was still absently looking out the cockpit window. "What'cha thinking, Nate?"
"I'm thinking they better hurry their asses up!" He looked over at Jackson then nodded toward the window. "Have a look, Cal."
"What?" Jackson stood up and leaned over the pilot. The bright sunlight made him squint, but he could still make out the dozen or so figures staggering around the airfield aimlessly. He sat back down heavily in his seat. "Deaders."
"Uh huh, a dozen or more." He tapped on his headset. "Hey, Gator, Poncho, could you come up here?"
"Sure thing, flyboy," Knox belched into his mic.
"Thanks." Crossley pulled his headset down around his neck. If he wasn't getting well paid and wasn't such a nice guy and afraid of Hale, he'd have started up the bird and flown their happy asses out of here. He looked over at Jackson, who was looking out his own window and dabbing at the cold sweat on his forehead.
"Yeah?" Knox said, pushing up the cockpit door, followed by Sanchez. Both soldiers were drinking from water bottles and munching on power bars.
"What's up?" Sanchez asked.
"We have deaders on the tarmac." Crossley pointed out the window. "A whole slew of them."
"Aw, crap," Sanchez cursed as he watched the undead staggering below.
"Can you take them out?" the pilot asked.
"Well," Gator burped, "they can't get us in here. Why waste the lead?"
"They might cause a problem when your boss gets back. We want to be able to pack them in and get the hell out."
Gator looked down at Sanchez, who had a mouthful of power bar, and shrugged. "What the hell. Grab a couple of suppressed minis, Poncho.”
"No problemo," Sanchez said, disappearing out the door.
"When I give the word, flyboy, drop the rear ramp," Gator said, turning back to the aft section of the plane. "If my little buddy gets bit, I'm coming back up here for both your butts! Got it?" Both pilots quickly nodded. "Good. I'll be in touch as soon as we’re ready."
Meissner shoved the radio in his pants pocket and nodded curtly at Hoffman. The other security man swallowed, smiled weakly, and nodded back. The show was about to begin. He crouched farther down on the roof and started to pick out targets with his rifle scope. Hoffman, rifle slung, crawled closer to the edge of the roof for a better shot with the grenade launcher. Adjusting his sweat-drenched ball cap, he wiped the sweat from his eyes. Meissner hated the tropics. Give him cool Euro weather any day.
"On three," Meissner told Hoffman, who nodded. Sweat was running freely down the sides of Hoffman’s face as he raised the launcher’s barrel.
"One … two … three!"
Hoffman pulled the trigger on the launcher and fired towards the tree line where the Russians lay hidden. The Germans had no idea the mercenaries were out there. Before the flash bang hit the ground, Hoffman was reloading. He fired again with a thunk as the first grenade detonated. As the second grenade left the launcher, he was grabbing the last flash bang when he was struck in the left shoulder by a round from the Russians. The impact drove Hoffman backwards onto the rooftop. The grenade launcher flew out of his hands and over the side of the building.
"Shit!" Meissner slung his rifle and crawled over to Hoffman, who was rolling around in pain on the roof. Keeping low, Meissner ripped off part of his shirt and pressed it over Hoffman's bleeding shoulder.
"How does it look?" Hoffman asked through gritted teeth.
"Looks through and through," Meissner said, tying off the makeshift dressing. "You are going to be okay, I think. Quit moving."
"I was just fucking shot!"
"You special now?" Meissner pushed him down and finished securing the dressing. "I don't think it hit anything going in." He smiled. "Might as well have just shot you in the head. Stay down. I'm going to have a look and see what the fuck is going on."
"I don't want to be stuck up here, Meissner," Hoffman groaned, wide eyed.
"That's two of us." He patted him on the other shoulder. "Stay put." He crawled over to the edge. Meissner could hear grenade explosions and small arms fire mixed in with some screams and the moans of the undead. What the fuck was going on? The whine of motorcycle engines joined the mess as he slowly peeked over the edge. An explosion and a wave of boiling-hot air shoved the German security man onto his back. He tried to force his eyes open, and when he finally did, he saw a sky full of fire. All the sounds were then blocked out by the ringing in his ears.
***
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Arkady was up on one knee and firing at the two motorcycles as they sped past and disappeared into the jungle. He dropped the AK to his side as he watched several dozens of the zombies stumble after the bikes. More of the dead were headed his way, drawn by the flash bang grenades. A couple of his men had been severely wounded when one of the grenades landed on top of them. The flash bangs had disoriented his team for a quick minute, disrupting their attack.
"Kata!" Arkady shouted. "Kata! The gas pumps!"
Kata struggled to her knees. There was a loud ringing in her ears, and her vision was fuzzy from the Germans' flash bangs. Unsteadily, she raised the grenade launcher and fired off two rounds towards the red pumps. The first grenade landed short, shredding a group of the undead. The second grenade found its mark. The gas pumps erupted in a huge fireball, sending the zombies flying in all directions in flaming pieces. Kata grinned as she felt the searing shockwave push her down into the grass.
Even fucked up
, she thought,
I can still blow shit up!
Arkady had jumped to the ground before the heated shockwave rolled over him. Getting to his feet, he fired at a zombie that was crawling, rather quickly and on fire, at him. The zombie's head exploded, and the rest of its body fell forward, still burning. The Russian commander shook his head and glanced back over at the lab. Kata's strike had been partially successful in gaining the attention of most of the dead surrounding the lab. The undead were staggering over to the massive fire created by the explosion and walking right into it. A dozen or more of the zombies were now walking barbeques. Despite all the other noises, Arkady could see the rear doorway of the building was almost clear of the flesh eaters. He shot two more of the zombies that were making their way towards him. As Arkady turned back to his team, the undead corpses collapsed, headless.
"Let's go!"
"What about Grigory?" Yuri asked, wide-eyed.
"Leave him. The grenade blinded him. He is no good to us." Arkady fired at another advancing zombie. "We have to go now!"
"I'll take care of him," Kata said, slinging the big grenade launcher and drawing a nine millimeter pistol out of her holster. She shoved the barrel into the back of Grigory's head and fired. "We can go now!" she said as Grigory's body slumped to the ground.
"Come on!" Arkady waved his men forward. "Alexi! Valentin! Keep the Americans busy. The rest of you, move your asses!"
"Da, Commander," Alexi said, bayoneting a zombie through the eye then waving Valentin to follow him.
***
"What a cluster fuck!" Wickham shouted as he fired on a deader that staggered his way. The ruse had almost worked, but with all the different noise distractions, the undead crowd had spread out. Most of the deaders were confused. There was no clear route to the lab from where they were now. Deaders were all over the place, and now Russians were loosed around the compound too.
"Keep low!" Hale shouted as he took a deader out at the neck with his mini-14. "We have bad guys out there too."
"Bloody 'ell!" Newman said, popping off a round from his rifle. "New plan, Major?"
"You bet. Newman, you take your men left, Lieutenant Wickham right, and we'll all meet at the back. Kill as many of those Russian bastards as you can."
"Right, Major!"
"Good. See you all back there." Hale nodded as he turned to follow Wickham and his team.
***
The explosion from the gas pumps had blown in the windows of the lab on that side. All the wooden barricades that Wolf and his men had built were reduced to splinters by the huge blast. Dozens of the undead had been vaporized or turned into walking pyres by the explosion. Those deaders that were destroyed were being quickly replaced by the countless undead that were being drawn in by the sounds of battle. The flesh-eating dead, some still on fire, started to climb and crawl into the unsecure openings of the building.
The ringing in Zagers' ears brought him to consciousness under a metal shelf that had collapsed on top of him during the blast. He shoved the flimsy structure away and quickly got to his feet, a little unsteady at first. With the partial loss of his hearing, the sounds of combat around him were muted. The room was filling up with dark clouds of smoke from the petrol fire outside. Coughing as he took in some of the shit-filled air, he glanced around for his rifle, finding it a few feet away. Now for the vaccine and the doctor.
"Wolf!" A distant voice in his ears. "Wolf, over here!" The voice sounded far away but in fact was less than ten feet. "Wolf !" Zagers turned and saw Klattenhoff standing in the hallway. "Come on!" Doktor Orlac and four other technicians stood behind the giant armorer. Two briefcase-sized metal containers were in Orlac's hands.
"Where's everyone else?" Wolf asked, coughing. His body ached like he'd gone ten rounds in a UFC fight.
Klattenhoff shook his head. He could tell Zagers was suffering from the effects of tinnitus, so he shouted at the security chief, “The explosion breached the lab, and the dead are inside now! They haven’t got to this hallway yet!”
“Russians?”
“I think so.” Klattenhoff raised the big machine gun waist high.
“Then what the fuck are we waiting for?” Wolf grabbed one of Orlac’s cases. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”
***
Newman led his team through the high grass and flaming mess towards the rear of the lab building. Winger, Cord, the presidents, Jayne, and Gibson followed the Australian sergeant into the chaos. It was mid-afternoon, but the thick, black flames from the gas fire started to block out the sun. Deaders stumbled around all over the compound, confused but no less dangerous.
"Ain’t payin' us enough for this," Gibson grumbled.
"No shit," Washington said, glancing around as they hurried forward.
"Keep it down," Newman said. "Bloody deaders and Russians all over the place."
"Fuck!" Cord stumbled backwards as a charred deader lying face down in the grass grabbed his leg and pulled him down. Cord lost his grip on his rifle, and it fell into the high grass. As he hit the ground, the undead burned thing crawled on top of him and began clawing and biting at him.
"Cord!" Jefferson shouted as he saw the younger man vanish into the grass. Newman spun around to see the former Marine fall backwards.
"Get 'im!" Newman shouted to Jefferson. "The rest of ya, watch our asses." As he shouted orders, a crowd of deaders made an uncoordinated sprint at the group. "Aw, fuck me," Newman cursed as he raised his rifle to fire on the undead assault.
Jefferson ran through the saw grass to where Cord had disappeared. He found the Marine on his back trying to fight off the ravenous deader. Jefferson raised his rifle and smashed the butt down on the flesh eater’s head. It made a weird gurgling sound then fell over sideways into the grass.
"You okay, brotha?" Jefferson asked, breathing heavily.
"No!" Cord grabbed his right arm. "Fucker bit me!"
"Shit." The older man knelt down next to Cord. "Where?" Nearby, gunshots rang out. Jefferson had to move fast. He moved Cord's hand away from the bite. The Marine could see that the deader had torn a nice-sized chunk out of his bicep. Jefferson quickly pulled out a battle dressing from a leg pocket and started to wrap it around Cord's arm.
"Fucker got me good," Cord groaned.
"Yes, he did." Jefferson finished securing the dressing. "Lucky it didn't get your dick!" More rifle shots. The Marine knew they had to move fast. "Where's your injector?"
"Here." He pulled it out of his tac vest with a trembling hand. "D-do these things work?"
"Fuck if I know." Jefferson smiled as he grabbed it from Cord and jabbed it into his injured arm. "You get a taste for meat, let me know." He helped Cord to his feet. "Come on!"
"My rifle, I fucking dropped it," Cord said in a panic.
"Relax, son. Use your pistol." Jefferson said, trying to calm the obviously scattered and shaken Cord.
"Right, right." Cord drew his nine millimeter. "Thanks, Jeff."
"Let's get back in the fight!" Jefferson said, smashing a deader that was lumbering towards them in the forehead with the barrel of his mini, sending it sprawling backwards. "Shit!"
Newman fired a round into the head of a flaming deader, causing it to fall sideways and tripping up another deader, sending both to the ground. The still-moving deader couldn't figure out how to untangle itself from the other and just lay there, moaning. Newman pulled out a tactical knife and stabbed it in the back of the head. He hated close-up work on the deaders. They were all grabby hands and teeth.
"Alby!" Jayne shouted. He was struggling with three of the flesh eaters. "Alby! Help!"
"Aw, crap." Newman turned and ran towards the ex-Navy man. Jayne was batting two of them away with his rifle while trying to shake one off his leg. Newman knew he couldn't get a good enough shot with Jayne moving about, so he ran up on the first one and shoved his knife through its ear and into its brain. The deader shook wildly, gurgled, then fell away from Jayne. With the first deader down, Jayne was able to pull away and fire a round into the upright deader’s head.
"Fuck me!" Jayne screamed as the deader tore into the back of his thigh. Blood splashed all over the undead thing's face. It dug its face back into the Australian’s thigh. Dark red arterial blood flowed freely. Jayne, frantic, bashed the deader in the head with his rifle stock. The flesh eater continued unhindered.
"No!" Newman slammed the knife down into the back of the deaders head. It released its hold on Jayne's leg and slipped down into the grass. Jayne quickly followed the deader to the ground. "Jayne!"
Newman knelt down next to the wounded Jayne and pulled the Navy man's battle dressing out of his leg pocket. Jayne's breathing very shallow, and he was rapidly losing color. Newman pressed the dressing on the wound to try and stop the bleeding. Washington ran up next to him, fired a round, then squatted down.
"Aw, man!"
"Give me your dressing!" Newman yelled, raising a free hand.
"Yeah, yeah." Washington dug his out and put it in Newman’s hand. "Looks bad, man."
Newman nodded slightly. Jayne had closed his eyes and was whimpering. Newman tightly wound some speed tape around the dressing. Jayne moaned as Newman pulled it as tight as he could. The big Aussie looked back up at Washington, who was keeping cover. Satisfied, he searched Jayne's pocket until he found his injector. Newman patted him reassuringly on the shoulder then jammed the vaccine into Jayne's leg. The injured man winced a little but then returned to his whimpering.
"He's lost a lot of blood," Newman told Washington.