The Rising Page 29

  Eventually, their reek and clamoring subsided. They were gone, drawing closer to what he was sure was their destination: Havenbrook.

  He left the tree a short time later. He crossed through a marsh on the opposite side of the highway. If a major confrontation between Schow's troops and the zombies was about to erupt, he should be able to skirt around it unnoticed, and make his way north. If he could find a car, he could conceivably be at Danny's within an hour or a little more.

  He slogged through the stagnant, ankle-high water, pushing through the reeds with his hands. He was glad Martin wasn't with him. The old man would have had a difficult time wading through the bog.

  A flash of memory hit him; their conversation in the Clendenon's living room, while Delmas lay dying.

  Maybe this is how it's supposed to be, Jim. I could stay here with them while you went on.

  No, Martin, I can't leave you here. You came with me, offered your friendship and support. It wouldn't be right.

  He thought of Baker, and what he'd said as Miccelli was dragging him away.

  Your son is alive. I can feel it too!

  He pushed forward and suddenly a white, pallid arm thrust up from the swamp and clutched at his legs. The zombie pulled itself up, brackish water dripping from its mouth and nose and ears. Not wanting to announce his location with a shot, Jim unslung the M-16 and in one fluid motion, brought it down on the creature's head. He did it again and again, blow after blow, hammering the thing back into the muddy marsh bottom.

  They don't need air, don't need to breathe. So it just lay there at the bottom, waiting for somebody to come by. There's still so much we don't know about them. Wonder if Baker figured that out yet?

  He stood, panting heavily.

  Danny was ahead of him. His friends were behind.

  Thrashing at the weeds in frustration, he turned and ran back towards Havenbrook. He ploughed through the fronds and cattails, and prayed.

  "God, I'm not even sure that I believe in you anymore, but I know that Martin does. I hope that you'll repay his faith by watching over him.

  Please let him and Baker and the others be safe. And please, please Lord, watch over my son. I'm so close. So very close now. Just keep him safe for a little longer."

  Baker shuffled past the silent, brooding guardhouse. The only sound was that of his feet scuffing through the gravel, and the idling engines of the vehicles and tanks. He then crossed through the open gate and let out a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

  Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe Ob is long gone--Powell's body rotted away and Ob had to go back to the Void and then back here again to find a new one.

  He crept forward. The stillness of the place was ominous, and Baker was filled with a sudden sense of dread. Something felt wrong. He knew of no other way to describe it, but he was certain of it nevertheless. He could feel it in the air.

  To his left, empty buildings and hangars. To his right, the employee parking lot, holding only a few abandoned cars. In front of him, the office buildings watched ominously with broken windows for eyes. He glanced back at the army, then started toward the buildings.

  There was a sudden flash of movement behind the windows.

  Baker froze. He sniffed the air, and smelled corruption.

  The thing that had once been his colleague and that now called itself Ob stepped out from between the buildings. He saw more movement out of the corner of

  his eye. Zombies lurked inside the cars, behind trees, and even in the bottom of the fountain; its still waters disturbed and rippling now.

  He knew Schow couldn't see them. The zombies were still hidden from their vantage point outside the fence. Even if they used infrared scanners or other technology, the corpses wouldn't register.

  Ob grinned at him; a terrible grimace that split Powell's face in half.

  Schow couldn't see them. Schow couldn't see the rocket launcher in Ob's hands.

  "It looks clear, Colonel," he shouted. "I think they've abandoned the place!"

  Behind him, the tanks began to rumble forward through the gate.

  Ob nodded, waiting.

  Baker crouched down and prayed for a quick death.

  "All units go!"

  They rumbled forth; Humvees and half-tracks and tanks, and in between them were men on foot, weapons at the ready. Schow steadied himself as his own vehicle passed through. Clouds of fumes and dust rose into the air.

  They poured through the gate like invading ants, and Schow was surprised to find he had an erection--until the first tank exploded in a blast of orange flame and shrapnel.

  "What the hell?"

  "We are under attack! I repeat, we are under attack!"

  "Colonel, they've got anti-tank weaponry!"

  "No shit, McFarland! Do you really think so? Give the order to fall back!"

  "Sir, Sergeant Ford reports we've got zombies in the rear. They're coming up the driveway now."

  The sounds of battle exploded around them; tanks, rifles and machine guns were all booming at the same time, and the noise was so tremendous that it seemed beyond the limits of human endurance. Zombies advanced into a storm of steel and fire, but as they were cut down, more took their place. Unlike the previous assault, Ob's forces were heavily armed. They fired indiscriminately, giving the fight back to the unit.

  Men were running everywhere, falling back and then advancing, only to fall back again. Most were beyond the fence, on the grounds of Havenbrook. Others had turned to flee, only to be caught by the creatures at their rear, now forming an impenetrable wall.

  "We're surrounded," Schow said, indignantly. His officers simply stared at him.

  A volley of bullets slammed into the command vehicle and Gonzalez and McFarland both jumped.

  Schow laughed. "It's about time! Finally, we've got a real fight on our hands!"

  He flung the doors open and ran out to greet the firestorm.

  An explosion rocked the trailer and then the doors swung open.

  Frankie brought the pistol up and into the frightened face of Private Lawson.

  "Hey," he gasped. "What is this?"

  "Where's your HumVee?" she snapped.

  "Blumenthal's bringing it around now. We were coming to get you and Julie. Everything is going to hell out there! You want to put that fucking gun away?"

  Frankie shot him in the face, just between the eyes, and he looked surprised as he collapsed to the pavement.

  "Let's go!"

  She jumped off the back of the truck, scrambling for Lawson's rifle.

  Julie and the other women followed her.

  A group of zombies lumbered towards them, pistols and rifles raised menacingly. Before either group could fire, Blumenthal careened around the corner in the HumVee and crashed into the cluster of zombies. They crunched under his wheels, and he skidded to a stop, dragging several of them underneath the carriage.

  He stared at the sight of the armed women, but before he could react, Frankie flung the door open and shot him. He screamed, fumbling for his pistol and she shot him again, pumping a third and fourth shot into his head. Then she climbed through the passenger seat and pushed his dead body out the driver's side door. Julie and Maria followed.

  Meghan was halfway in when she screamed. One of the zombies beneath the HumVee had latched onto her leg, and was gnawing at her exposed ankle.

  Blood ran down the thing's cheeks as it bit down harder, shaking its head like a dog.

  Meghan fell backward, beating at the creature with her hands. Frankie leaned over Julie, put the pistol to the creature's head, and squeezed the trigger.

  "Get her onboard," she snapped. "Now, let's see if I remember how to do this."

  They jerked forward, and then the ride smoothed as Frankie grew adjusted to it.

  "Drive toward the field!" Julie shouted. "We can four wheel in this thing, right?"

  "First, we've got to let the others out of these trucks," Frankie said, and wheeled up to a trailer. "We can't just let those people
stay trapped inside."

  She pulled along beside it, so that the Humvee's passenger door was even with the trailer's doors.

  "Get out and open it!"

  "I can't!" Julie shouted. "They've got some kind of metal band holding it shut!"

  A bullet whined over their heads. Another slammed into the truck trailer. Inside it, Frankie could hear people screaming for help and pounding on the walls with their fists.

  She fumbled through the debris on the floor, until she found a pair of wire cutters.

  "Use these. They should snip right through it."

  Julie flung the door open and ran the few steps to the trailer, while Frankie and Maria laid down cover fire. They were not choosy, aiming at both the soldiers and the undead.

  "My ankle hurts! What if it's infected?"

  "Swallow it up, Meghan," Frankie hollered over her shoulder, "because right now we're a little busy!"

  Julie cut through the thin seal and yanked the doors open. She dashed back toward the HumVee as a human flood poured out of the trailer.

  "Go!"

  Frankie sped away toward the next truck and they repeated the process.

  This one held many of the women, and Frankie was relieved to see Gina spring forth. Julie escorted the frightened woman back to the HumVee and Frankie pulled away again.

  She looked in the rearview mirror and what she saw chilled her. The freed captives were being mowed down by the dead, who in turn were being shot at by Schow's men. A zombie and a woman grappled, only to be mowed down by a soldier, who in turn was dragged to the ground by another group of captives. Then the zombies fell on them both. All three groups melded into a grisly, face-to-face confrontation.

  Several of the captives were freeing others, using rocks and sticks and even their fingers to snap the metal bands and open the trailers.

  Several of the trucks exploded before those inside were freed, killing both captives and their would-be saviors, and the smell of burning flesh mixed with the acrid smoke of battle and the stench of the undead.

  A soldier ran towards them, his clothes on fire, and the right side of his face charred black. He waved his arms at them, begging Frankie to stop.

  She drove straight towards him, closing her eyes as he crunched beneath their wheels.

  Julie shivered. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

  "Wait, what about Aimee? Please Frankie, we've got to find her!"

  Swallowing hard, Frankie braked. Gripping the wheel tightly, she turned to face the frantic mother.

  "Gina," she began, then struggled for the words. "She's-"

  "No. No nono, don't you say it! Why would you say that? Did you see her?"

  "Kramer had her in the Meat Wagon. He-he did things."

  Before Frankie could finish, Gina ripped the door open and ran across the battlefield, charging towards the Meat Wagon.

  "Gina, get back here! Julie, stop her!"

  Cursing, Julie ran after her. Frankie slammed the HumVee into gear and chased after both of them.

  "Meghan, close Gina's door!"

  The injured woman leaned forward, fingertips grasping for the handle.

  Then she slumped over.

  Frankie turned in horror as a second bullet finished the woman off.

  She stomped the accelerator and Meghan's dead body slipped to the floor.

  Frankie glanced around, looking for Gina or Julie, but there was no sign of either of them amidst the carnage.

  Unaware that she was crying, she drove into the storm.

  The gunner's lower jaw and most of his throat were gone, and Sergeant Ford knew it was just a matter of minutes before the corpse started moving again. He clambered up onto the sling seat, unbuckled the dead man, and flung him unceremoniously to the ground. Then he squeezed his bulk behind the fifty caliber, pointed it to their rear, and opened fire.

  The creatures were coming from everywhere. They shambled forth from all directions, and Ford's eyes widened when he saw that some of them were his own men, killed and forgotten during the orphanage attack.

  "Come on you fuckers! Come and get it!"

  He fired in a sweeping pattern. Heavy rounds slammed into the zombie's lines, destroying many and cutting others to pieces. The injured; those with missing limbs and severed spinal cords, flopped on the ground, dragging themselves back toward the battle.

  The creatures returned fire, and bullets ricocheted off the heavy armor.

  Ford stayed low and kept firing, sweeping back and forth as the creatures advanced. The gun grew hot in his hands, and the smoke was beginning to burn his eyes.

  Something screeched from above him. He threw his hands up to protect himself as the blackbird swooped down, clawing at his eyes. In panic, he stood up, swatting at the creature, and the zombies on the ground opened fire.

  Ford jerked as the bullets slammed into him. He tried to scream, but only managed a small, stuttering wheeze. As he fumbled for the machine gun, the zombies responded with a second barrage.

  Clawing at his wounds, he swayed, then fell to the ground, landing atop the dead gunner.

  As his lifeblood drained from him, the dead gunner began to squirm beneath him.

  Mercifully, Ford was dead before the feeding began.

  "Let's go! If you're going to die, die like men!" They swarmed from the trailer, and Martin heard many of them begin screaming just seconds later. He cowered against the back wall, terrified of what must be occurring outside.

  One of the Psalms echoed through his head, and his voice trembling, he began to recite it aloud as the rest of the men from the trailer leapt into the fray.

  "My heart is pained within me, and the terrors of death are fallen upon me."

  A horrid shriek interrupted him, and something slammed violently against the trailer.

  "Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me. Oh that I had wings like a dove! For then I would fly away, and be at rest."

  Something outside exploded, and the trailer shook. He braced himself with one hand against the wall, and opened his eyes. The truck was empty now, but all around him on the outside, men were dying.

  "I would hasten my escape from the windy storm and tempest."

  Gunshots rang out, followed by a scream. Then something wet hit the ground.

  "As for me, I will call upon God, and the Lord shall save me."

  "No he won't."

  The thing bubbled laughter as it clambered up into the truck. It squelched toward him, and Martin was horrified to see a priest's collar embedded in the bulbous, sagging flesh of the zombie's neck.

  "He won't save you. He didn't save me."

  "Of course God didn't save you," Martin said, pressing himself against the wall. "But He saved the soul of the man whose body you've stolen.

  Your desecration means nothing. You may have taken the body of a man of God, but you couldn't touch his soul!"

  The zombie hissed, then reached into its rancid clothing and pulled forth a very large kitchen knife. The blade gleamed in the light. It advanced toward him, slashing at the air. Outside, the sounds of battle continued.

  "Yes. Your kind go to Heaven. Our kind didn't have that luxury. We were sent to the Void. You have no idea

  how long we've suffered there, waiting for this, our release. We gnashed our teeth and cried aloud and waited for the day of the rising."

  Martin repeated the verse. "As for me, I will call upon God, and the Lord shall save me."

  The zombie-priest snarled at him, edging closer.

  "It will be better if you do not fight. You are one of His, as was this body I inhabit. I will make it quick, so that one of my brothers can join me in you. Then we shall go forth and spread a new gospel."

  Martin took a deep breath. "He hath delivered my soul in peace from the battle against me; for there were many with me."

  It charged him, thrusting the knife toward his stomach. Martin twisted away, and grabbed the creature's wrists. Grappling with each other, they crashed backward, and
the zombie landed on top of him. Martin squirmed beneath it, fighting with all his strength as the zombie pushed the knife towards his throat.

  "I will feast on your liver," the thing spat, and Martin winced at the reek pouring from its mouth. "I will wear your intestines as a necklace and give them to the one that will soon dwell in you."

  Weakened by old age and fear, Martin's arms quivered. The knife slid closer, inches away from his throat. The creature laughed again, and leaned its mouth toward his face. He let go of one of its wrists and shoved his palm under the zombie's chin, desperately pushing the head upward. Its hand freed, the zombie clawed at his throat.