The Rising Page 27

  "Oh, I was hoping you'd be here, bitch. I got something for you."

  He rolled off Aimee, and she lay still and unmoving. Frankie noticed the blood on her thighs, and the rage seethed within her.

  "What do you have for me, that little thing?" She pointed at the Sargent's blood-slickened penis, bobbing in the air.

  Kramer reached into the pile of clothes at the foot of the cot, and pulled out his pistol.

  "Maybe I'll just fuck you with this instead."

  "At least it's bigger."

  Julie came up behind her. "Frankie, don't antagonize him."

  "Keep out of this, Julie. Go back up front and watch the door. Make sure no zombies try to get in." She kept her eyes on Kramer. "We wouldn't want to be interrupted."

  "That's right," he drooled, "while everybody else is having target practice, we can have some fun."

  Julie backed away, her frightened eyes watching in disbelief. The sounds of battle surrounded them now, punctuated by screams of agony and terror.

  "Your friends are dying out there, and all you can think about is getting your dick wet," Frankie observed coldly. "Some man you are."

  "I'll show you how much of a man I am, bitch." He pointed the pistol at her. "On your knees, or I'll shoot you and then the girl."

  "I wonder what's going on?" Martin whispered as the truck ground to a halt.

  Bullets whizzed by the outside of the truck. There were unintelligible shouts and then more gunfire, followed by the sound of running. An explosion rocked them back and forth on their tires.

  "We must be under attack." Jim shifted his weight, trying to coax the blood back into his legs, which had grown numb from inactivity.

  Something slammed against the side of the trailer, and then a quarter-sized hole appeared, letting in a thin shaft of daylight. In the darkness, one of the men cried out.

  "He's been shot!"

  "Everybody down!" Jim shouted, dragging Martin to the floor with him.

  Another bullet punched through the trailer, near the roof.

  Haringa adjusted his glasses. "What the hell is going on?"

  He crawled above the other men toward the slim shaft of light. As he leaned closer to peek outside, something white and puffy poked its way through.

  A finger. A dead finger.

  Something tittered on the outside and the finger withdrew, decaying flesh flaking off against the twisted metal.

  A fist pounded against the trailer, then another.

  Jim noticed that the gunshots were distant now, scattering away from them.

  Something knocked playfully on the trailer doors; rapping out 'Shave and a Hair Cut'.

  Before they could stop him, one of the men knocked back.

  Tap Tap. Two Bits'

  The doors began to rattle.

  "It's like they were waiting for us," McFarland mused, staring at the carnage on all sides. "Like they'd been told we were coming."

  "Perhaps they were, Captain," Baker told him. "The birds. The bats. I've tried to make you understand that they are possessed by the same entities possessing the human dead."

  "Bullshit," Gonzalez spat. "If that's true, then why aren't the bugs infected, huh? How come there's not zombie mosquitoes buzzing around? Fucking zombie gnats?"

  "I don't claim to have all the answers. Maybe insects don't have enough of a life force. Maybe their frames are too fragile. I don't know. All I know is that when our-or an animal's-energy or life force or soul or whatever you want to call it departs, these things take over."

  Schow threw down his headphones and in one fluid motion, pulled his pistol and shoved it against Worm's temple. Worm whimpered and tried to draw away from the barrel, but Schow grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head forward. A single drop of blood ran down the frightened boy's face, forming a tear.

  "Tell you what, Professor. Let's test your little theory right now. You knew this was going to happen, didn't you? You set us up!"

  "No, Schow," Baker thrust his hands out, "I had no idea! I went a different way when I fled Havenbrook. Why would I lead us into a trap, and endanger Worm and myself in the process?"

  "They're all around us," a voice screamed over the radio, "I repeat, they've broken through the perimeter!"

  "Watch your flank, watch your-" There was a strangled scream, followed by a burst of static.

  Schow leaned over and flung the door open, pushing Worm outside.

  Baker lunged for him, but Gonzalez was quicker. He punched him once in the face, followed by a blow to his stomach, then shoved him back down in the seat

  "Baykhar!"

  Worm rolled across the road, and then scrambled to his feet, pawing at the door. Schow slammed it shut and re-locked it, then pointed the gun at Baker.

  Four children circled Worm, their dead faces alight with malicious glee.

  "Baykhar!"

  Schow turned to the driver. "Silva, give the order to retreat. I want every man on the ground back in his vehicle. We're moving forward, and we'll regroup at Havenbrook."

  Worm clawed at the HumVee, pounding frantically on the door. Then the children fell on him.

  Baker shut his eyes, but he couldn't block out the screams.

  "Look at that," Gonzalez whistled, "they took his throat out with one bite."

  "And his ear," McFarland snorted, "although, I guess he wasn't using those anyway."

  "You bastards," Baker sobbed. "You god damn bastards, I will see you burn. I will see you fucking burn! Why would you do this?"

  "Move out," Schow ordered, and the HumVee lurched forward with a jerk.

  With his eyes twisted shut and his fists balled against his ears, Baker wept.

  "Look at that," Gonzalez said, "the retard must have been a bug. I don't see him getting back up."

  But after they crested the hill and passed from sight, Worm rose.

  "Fall back, you college-boy asshole!" Miller shoved the cringing Lieutenant forward, all thoughts of rank forgotten.

  Along the roadside, an injured private screamed as a group of zombies clawed open his stomach, plunging their hands into his steaming innards.

  Miller swung his M-16 toward them and emptied the clip.

  He grabbed a fleeing officer and pulled him close. The frightened man squirmed in his grip.

  "Where is PFC Kramer?"

  "I don't know," the man stammered, "last I saw he was heading for the Meat Wagon with some little girl and then the shit hit the fan and those things killed Navarro and Arensburg and they looked just like my daughter, one of them looked just like my daughter-"

  Miller flung the raving man to the dirt, where he lay continuing to babble.

  Fuck Kramer and fuck Schow and fuck everyone else, he thought to himself. This whole operation is one gigantic cluster-fuck.

  He ejected his spent clip, popped in a fresh one, and shot the Lieutenant in the face. Then he flagged down a passing tanker truck and climbed up into the cab.

  The driver looked grim. "I'm thinking we should have stayed in Gettysburg, Sergeant."

  "Six of one, half dozen of the other," Miller shrugged. He rolled down the window, sighted a zombie, and squeezed the trigger.

  "They're trying to get in!"

  The men in the truck scrambled backward, crushing those behind them against the sides of the trailer. Martin wheezed, clutching his chest, and clawed for enough room to stand.

  "Are you okay?" Jim asked.

  The old man shook his head, fighting for breath.

  The doors rattled again, as the zombies sheared through the metal band holding them shut. They swung open with a bang, flooding the trailer with blinding sunlight and the sounds of battle-the sounds of men dying.

  They're children, Jim thought. They're Danny's age!

  The men closest to the door clawed in terror at those behind them, but there was no room to move. They pressed against each other as decaying hands clutched at them, hauling them down into the hordes. Hungry mouths snapped in anticipation, and the zombies began to climb o
nto the truck in their place.

  Haringa pushed his way forward and kicked one in the head, sending it sprawling back into the others. He aimed his boot at another, but it latched onto his leg and pulled him down. The creature's teeth sank into his pants leg, and blood welled through the denim as Haringa wailed.

  More of the creatures climbed aboard.

  "You heard me, bitch. Get on your fucking knees, now!"

  Frankie complied, kneeling on the carpeted floor. Her eyes never left Kramer's.

  Leering, the big man moved forward, thrusting his still erect penis at her face. Taking a deep breath, Frankie let the rancid thing slide past her lips.

  He's no different than any other John.

  Kramer groaned, caressing her cheek with the pistol.

  "Remember," he grunted, "don't get any ideas or I'll kill all of you."

  Frankie made no indication that she'd heard him, but her pace quickened.

  She bobbed her head faster, working him like a professional. She felt him relax, leaning into her, and she continued.

  She blocked out his stench, his sounds, thoughts of Aimee, and the noise of the fight raging outside. She was in her private place now, and the world didn't exist. Nobody else was there. Just her--and her baby.

  She wanted a fix, and the craving filled her with revulsion and self-loathing.

  She felt Kramer stiffen, his legs knotting together, knees locking. He groaned, and the gun dangled uselessly at his side as he erupted in her mouth.

  Frankie slid all the way down to the base of his penis, letting his dank pubic hair tickle her nose.

  Then she bit down. Hard.

  Kramer shrieked.

  She ground her teeth together, feeling them meet through the flesh and muscle. With a savage jerk, she twisted her head back and forth, and then pulled away from him.

  The severed member dangled from her lips. She spat it onto the floor as Kramer screamed, staring in disbelief. Eyes glazing over, he raised the gun toward her; his other hand clutching at his mangled groin. Blood gushed from between his fingertips, spattering the carpet.

  Frankie grinned with crimson teeth. "Maybe I could get used to being a zombie."

  "You bitch..." He waved the gun, then fell over, still clutching between his legs as the blood pumped out of him.

  Frankie stepped over his limp body just as the truck began to move again. She plucked the pistol from his hand and pressed it against the back of Kramer's head. Then she squeezed the trigger.

  Next, she went to Aimee. The girl lay still.

  "Aimee?" She patted her cheeks gently, then raised her limp arm and felt for a pulse. There was none. Her skin was growing cold. Frankie sighed, then dropped the girls arm and turned away.

  Aimee's eyes opened and she sat up, swinging her legs off the cot.

  "Frankie, look out!" Julie screamed.

  Frankie spun just as Aimee launched herself at her. She sidestepped and the zombie slid across the floor, colliding with Kramer's corpse.

  Frankie fired, and the shot tore the girl's throat open. The next one went in just above her eye, and Aimee lay still again.

  Julie was sobbing, and the other women were awake now, crying out in confusion and horror. Frankie grabbed the corner of a sheet and wiped the blood from her arms and face, then walked towards them.

  "What now?" Julie asked.

  "These doors won't open from the inside," Frankie said, "so we wait.

  Help me look for more weapons."

  Jim tried desperately to push through the crowd, but it was no use. He turned away as the zombie took another bite from Haringa's leg. The men inside the truck were screaming now, crushing each other in desperation.

  Outside, the truck's engine suddenly coughed, then roared to life. The truck jerked forward, and both the zombies and the men nearest the door tumbled onto the road. Jim caught a brief glimpse of Haringa's outstretched hand and then he was gone as well. Only his eyeglasses remained behind.

  The truck picked up speed, leaving those on the ground behind. Two of the creatures remained on board, and they struggled with the prisoners as the truck squealed away.

  One of them, a teenage girl, sank her teeth into the back of her victim's neck and hung on while the man spun in circles, beating at her with his fists. Jim finally was able to push forward, and he shoved both the zombie and the man out the open door. The other zombie turned on him, then teetered, arms pinwheeling, before it dropped out the open space as well. Jim cheered as its head burst upon the road.

  Still clutching his chest, Martin made his way forward.

  "What now?" he wheezed.

  "We get the hell off this truck."

  The truck's speed increased, leaving the zombies and their victims behind as the yellow line in the middle of the road became a fast moving blur.

  "Jump?"

  "That's what I'm thinking," Jim nodded. "Wait for the truck to slow around a curve or something and then jump off."

  "Jim, this isn't the movies. You'll be of no use to Danny if you break your leg escaping."

  "He's right, Mister." Another man shuffled forward. One of the zombie children's fingernails had gouged two ragged furrows in his cheek, and he wiped at the blood absentmindedly. "You'd be road pizza if you jumped at the speed we're going."

  "I've got to try. I can't just stand here and do nothing!"

  "What about them?" Martin pointed out the door.

  A fleeing Jeep sped along behind them. The driver was shouting into the radio, probably reporting that the doors were open on the truck.

  "Even if you did land safely, I suspect they'd either run you over or shoot you. What help would you be to Danny then?"

  Jim punched the wall of the trailer.

  The soldier in the Jeep fired at a zombie in the road.

  "You wouldn't stand a chance on foot, either," Martin continued. "How many of those things do you think are out there? You said it yourself, Jim. The closer we get to the populated areas, the more of them there'll be."

  Jim didn't reply. He stared at the Jeep, then turned back to Martin.

  "I want to thank you for all that you have done, my friend." He clasped Martin's hand and squeezed. "I don't have the words to tell you how much it means."

  Then, before Martin could blink, he let go, bent his knees and jumped off the back of the truck.

  "What the hell?" Ford turned as the Jeep he was riding in swerved into the passing lane.

  "What Sarge?"

  "Somebody just jumped off that rig up ahead!"

  He picked up the handset.

  "Charlie-Two-Nine, this is Six."

  "Go ahead, Six. Over."

  "Sharpes, what the hell is going on over there?"

  "We tried telling them their backdoor was open, but their radio's busted. Did you see that guy jump off?"

  "Hell yes, I saw. Handle it."

  There was a pause, and then "Sergeant, are you sure? Don't you think the zombies will take care of him for us?"

  "Handle it before the rest of the men on that truck get the same idea.

  Six out."

  Jim rolled into a ball as he fell; tucking his heels against his buttocks and wrapping his arms around his knees. He'd seen his father demonstrate the maneuver when he'd been younger, and the old man had told him stories of parachuting into the jungles of Viet Nam.

  He landed in the grass along the side of the road, and his left side slammed against the ground. A thousand tiny needles of white-hot pain shot through him as he tumbled into the ditch, forcing the breath from his lungs. He continued rolling. When he tried to breathe again, it felt like something was stabbing him in the chest.

  Then the motion stopped and he was lying there in the gutter, alive. In pain, but alive.

  He took a tentative breath and though it still hurt to do so, it wasn't excruciating. He crawled onto his hands and knees. Nothing seemed to be broken, but his back and side were bleeding, and he'd reopened the gunshot wound in his shoulder.

  The truck was
speeding away and he saw the men in the trailer cheering him, their arms upraised in salute.

  A sudden burst of machine gun fire peppered the ground around him, sending gravel and dirt and bits of rock flying in all directions.

  Jim scrambled into the woods as the shooter readjusted his aim. Bullets tore through the ground where his feet had been seconds ago. They slammed into trees and whizzed through the weeds as he dived into the heavy brush. Thorns tore at his face and hands.