Left With The Dead Page 8

  “Roger that, Falcon. I can make that frequency. Have you been in contact with Pathfinder? Over.”

  “Negative on that last, Terminator. Waiting for them to report in, and will advise them as soon as they do of your plan, over.”

  “Roger that, Falcon.” Gartrell heard something slam against the bedroom door in Jolie’s apartment. He dragged a heavy coffee table over and upended it against the hole in the wall, then shoved a chair against it, dragging it around Jolie and Jaden as they clung to each other. It wasn’t much of a barricade, but it would serve to delay the stenches for a minute or two. “Terminator’s got to pull out now, Falcon. I’m rolling over to the company frequency of one two seven point eight, would be appreciative if you could switch over with me and give me a radio check, over.”

  “Roger, Terminator. Switching over now.”

  Gartrell switched his radio over to the new frequency and transmitted his identity. Falcon wasn’t there, but he did get Summit Six.

  “Good to hear from you again, Terminator. Falcon told me what you’re up to, heading out into the streets and all,” the infantry commander said. “You’ve got big brass ones, Green Beret. Over.”

  “Always have, always will, Six. Give Falcon my regards, and he gets some beers from me once this is over. Do me a favor, Six, and make sure your lightfighters get the word we’re coming down. Unit of three, myself, one female, one four-year-old boy with autism. If we get boxed in, we’re going to need every swinging dick we can get. Over.”

  “Roger that, Terminator. We’re headed your way. Good luck, first sergeant—we’ll be listening in on this side. Summit Six, out here.”

  More noise from the other side of the wall, and Gartrell thought he heard the sound of the bed being pushed against the wall. He darted toward the apartment door and looked through the security peephole. There was some smoke in the hallway, but not enough to substantially reduce visibility. Gartrell pulled his last smoke grenade from his belt and unlocked the door as quietly as he could. With a silent prayer, he slowly pulled the door open and peeked around the sill.

  There were zeds, at least a dozen of them, all fighting to get into Jolie’s apartment. All were fixated on that particular task, snarling and moaning as they jostled against each other, oblivious to anything else. Gartrell pulled the pin from the smoker and rolled it down the hallway and closed the door as it went off and commenced spewing gray-white smoke. He didn’t bother to lock the door, just left it closed.

  He ran back into the living room and knelt beside Jolie and Jaden. He pulled the quick ties from his pocket once again and touched Jolie on the shoulder.

  “It’s time. Let’s get Jaden secured, and then we’re on our way.”

  Jolie hugged her boy one final time, then looked at Gartrell. “He’ll probably scream. You know that.”

  Gartrell nodded. “We just have to get him restrained as quickly as possible, at least until we get into the subway tunnel. I’ll clear a path through the zeds, you just keep up and make sure they don’t flank me, all right?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Well, try real, real hard—your son’s going to be on my back, remember. Now let’s cut some butt, we’re out of time.”

  Jaden struggled but didn’t scream as much as Gartrell feared he would. It still took almost two minutes to get the boy secured to Gartrell’s back, and Jolie fought back more tears as she bound her son’s wrists and ankles so tightly they must have hurt. Jaden jerked and pulled, repeating “No, no, no!” again and again, but at last, he was strapped in place against the back of Gartrell’s body armor.

  There was a crash from Jolie’s apartment as the stenches flooded into the bedroom. A moment later, they found their way into the closet, and the coffee table rocked back and forth as a zed pushed against it. Gartrell grabbed Jolie’s hand and pulled her with him as he made a beeline for the door, his battered combat boots whispering across expensive Persian rugs.

  “You open the door, and I’ll clear whatever’s on the other side. You’ll go past me and open the door to the stairwell across the hall. Wait for me there. Once we’re in, grab Jaden’s shoulder and follow me down the stairs. Did you put cotton in his ears?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. It’s going to be very smoky outside in the hall, but we won’t be in it for long. Let’s go.” He raised the AA-12 to his shoulder, barrel pointed at the floor and nodded toward the door. Jolie grabbed the door knob in her right hand and looked back at him. Gartrell nodded again, and she yanked the door open.

  A mass of unpleasant-smelling gray-white smoke billowed in. Gartrell stepped into the hallway as Jaden moaned and struggled, uncomfortable with the sudden action and the stress it put on his wrists and ankles. A zombie moved against the wall nearby, feeling its way along with outstretched arms. It was vague and indistinct in the dense smoke, and it did not seem to notice Gartrell even though he stood no more than ten feet away. He saw why that was—both its eyes were gone, leaving only empty sockets in the flesh-covered skull. Gartrell kept it covered anyway as Jolie moved past him without hesitation. He caught the apartment door before it slammed shut and closed it gently, then faded into the smoke as the zombie crept slowly closer. It emitted a long, drawn out moan. It couldn’t see them, but sensed the presence of the living somewhere in the hallway. Gartrell moved to the right, edging toward the stairwell door which Jolie held open. He stepped onto the dark landing, and Jolie closed the door behind him. The darkness inside was complete, and Jaden made a small mewling sound in the back of his throat. Gartrell flipped down his night vision goggles and took them out of standby mode, and the stairwell was clearly revealed to him in shades of green and white. He turned and grabbed Jolie’s hand and put it on his shoulder. She clutched him, strong enough to hurt, and Jaden mewled again, his voice echoing in the concrete-walled stairwell. Gartrell started down, walking slowly enough that Jolie could find her footing. It took her a moment to synchronize her movements with his, but she learned quickly, and soon they were making good progress. As they descended, Gartrell heard voices over the radio: the light infantry platoon reporting their progress, and Summit Six ordering them to advance with all possible haste to link up with Gartrell and the civilians. Gartrell felt a blossom of hope spread open in his chest.

  “Terminator Five, this is Summit Six. Are you still on this frequency, over?”

  Gartrell keyed his transmit button twice. He didn’t want to talk in the stairwell; even a whisper would carry farther than he wanted it to.

  “Terminator Five, Summit Six. Understand you cannot talk, over.”

  Gartrell clicked the transmit button twice once again.

  “Terminator Five, Summit Six. Pathfinder is aware of your circumstances, and they are proceeding to the Eighty-Sixth Street station. Double-click if you get that, over.”

  Gartrell did as instructed.

  “Terminator, Summit. You should be hearing helicopters soon. These are not the transports, I say again, these are not transports—they are Apaches from the Tenth Mountain aviation brigade, and they are to give you fire support. As soon as you’re ready to make your run for the subway, let me know and we’ll get them lined up for close-in gunnery, over.”

  Gartrell’s spirits fairly soared. He double-clicked the transmit button again, and he started walking faster, pulling Jolie along. She stumbled on one step, and he forced himself to slow down as he reasserted control over his emotions.

  Slow down troop, or you’ll get everyone killed.

  Above, something pounded against one of the doors leading to the stairs. Jolie squeezed his shoulder, and Jaden wriggled about on his back. Gartrell stopped and leaned over the edge of the railing and peered down. Only two more flights to go.

  “Let’s pick it up a bit,” he whispered to Jolie.

  “I can’t see a thing,” she said.

  “I can. Three steps to the next landing, turn left, down a flight, turn left, another flight, and then the door to—to what?”

  “A hallwa
y, and at the end of that, another door. Glass and mesh, like the one on Second Avenue.”

  Above, the pounding increased, and the moans of the dead reached their ears.

  “Keep up with me,” Gartrell said, and then he started down the steps at a good pace. Jolie hurried after him, her hand still on his shoulder. She stumbled down the steps but caught herself. In the process, she lost her grip on Gartrell’s shoulder.

  “Dave!” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Gartrell turned at the next landing and looked up. She was at the top of the flight of stairs. Her hand was on the rail, and she looked right at him without seeing him.

  “Come down. Twelve steps, just like in Alcoholics Anonymous. Take ‘em quick, don’t fuck around. You hear that racket upstairs? The dead’ll be in here any minute. We gotta move, so shag it, lady.”

  She hurried down the steps, her left hand on the steel rail and the shotgun in her right. He reached out and took her shoulder when she made it to the landing and guided her around to the next flight of stairs.

  “Another twelve steps, then the door. You see the light from under the door?”

  “I see it!”

  “Then hit it. Go!”

  Keeping his hand on her shoulder this time, he followed her as she half-ran, half-stumbled down the steps. She almost fell against the door at the end of the stairwell, and her hand fumbled for the knob. Gartrell stopped her from opening it.

  “Hold on. We’ll do it like before—you open, I’ll clear. Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Gartrell moved around her and ensured the wall was to Jaden’s back and there was nothing that could harm him to the rear. Jaden seemed to be sleeping now, his head resting against Gartrell’s shoulders. Gartrell wondered how that could be, as he must have been in some pain from the bonds on his wrists and ankles. He didn’t dwell upon it. Instead, he flipped his NVGs up on their mount and readied the AA-12.

  “Open it,” he said.

  Jolie pulled open the door, and filtered afternoon sunlight burst into the stairwell. It wasn’t extremely bright, but Gartrell squinted against it anyway. He stepped into the hallway beyond. To his left, the hall ended at a closed elevator. To his right, it continued down toward a door that was three-quarters reinforced glass. Somewhere in the distance, he heard helicopters. Jaden stirred at the light, whining slightly. Gartrell waved Jolie into the hallway as he heard something give way upstairs. The dead had finally overwhelmed the door, and were doubtless streaming into the stairwell. Jolie hurried out, and Gartrell slammed the door shut. The darkness wouldn’t cause the zeds much delay. Gravity would do its work, and they would find their way to the bottom, one way or another.

  “Summit Six, Terminator Five. We’re about to exit the building on Eighty-Sixth Street, and I’d estimate we’re about a hundred meters east of the subway station. I can hear the helicopters, are they in firing position? Over.” Through the glass door at the end of the hallway, Gartrell saw figures lurch past on the street outside.

  “Terminator, Summit. They’re ready whenever you are with nine hundred rounds of thirty mike-mike each. Flight of four hovering right close by, over.”

  “Six, we’re ready. We are danger close and we need to get the hell out of here, so they should start sending rounds downrange right now, over.” As he spoke, Gartrell heard sounds from behind the stairwell door. The stenches were finding their way down, and it sounded like half of them were falling down the stairs as opposed to walking down them.

  “Dave…” Jolie looked toward the gray metal door, her shotgun in both hands. Sweat beaded on her upper lip, and thick strands of her red hair stuck to her face.

  “Come on.” Gartrell trotted toward the door, then stopped halfway down the hallway. He motioned for her to cover the exit, while he turned back toward the stairs.

  “Terminator, Summit. Order out, party in ten, over.”

  It didn’t take that long. Gartrell heard the helicopters shift position, and then the rotor noise was louder than before. Gartrell glanced over his shoulder and saw the zeds on the sidewalk outside slowly look up at the noise. He couldn’t see the Apaches, but he hoped they were hovering above the buildings, not between them—

  Loud cracking noises echoed through the concrete canyon outside as the Apaches opened up with their belly-mounted 30mm chainguns. At first, Gartrell didn’t see much of anything happen, then the stenches right outside the door…exploded. It was as if they simply ceased to exist, transforming into disassociated body parts as the big high-explosive rounds utterly decimated anything soft and unprotected. The glass door cracked as metal fragments slammed into it, and Jolie jumped away from it and into Gartrell, jostling him.

  “Jesus Christ!” she said over the sound of the helicopters and the firing guns.

  “Not exactly, but the aviators would like to think so.” Gartrell kept his AA-12 oriented on the stairwell door, and even above the discordant chaos breaking out on the street, he heard the sounds of the approaching zombie horde, stumbling their way down the steps. To no doubt they’d heard the helicopters as well, and were zeroing in on the sound.

  “Terminator, Summit—Apaches report first pass complete, the block is temporarily clear if you want to make your exit, over.”

  “Roger that, Summit. We’ve got stenches to our rear, they’ll be following us out in just a minute or so,” Gartrell said as he pushed Jolie toward the door. Small shards of glass cracked beneath his boots. Jaden struggled suddenly, shouting. “Maybe if two of the gunships can start working on keeping the subway station entrance clear, the other two can guard the back door, over.”

  “Roger Terminator, will pass that on, over.”

  They made it to the door, and Jaden’s struggles increased. Gartrell looked down at where the boy’s wrists were bound to his body armor, and he saw the plastic quick ties had cut into his skin. He was bleeding, though not badly. He squeezed one of the boy’s hands quickly, taking a moment to try and reassure him. It didn’t work.

  “It’s going to be loud out there, so stay close!” Gartrell said to Jolie, having to raise his voice above Jaden’s shouting and the thunder of the hovering helicopters. “The Apaches will give us some top cover, but they’re not firing death rays—they can only stop what they hit, and their cannons are made to take out vehicles, not people. So stay close, and remember, keep them off us!”

  “I will! I will!” Jolie looked at Jaden with a pained expression. “Oh, baby—” She reached past Gartrell’s shoulder to touch her boy’s face. Gartrell slapped her hand away.

  “Later! Stay focused on what we have to do now! Let’s move out!”

  He pushed against the door, and it opened slowly. He looked down and saw why; the quivering remains of a zombie lay just outside. The ghoul had been blown into three different pieces, but its upper body was still moving, and the shredded remains of one arm slapped against the door, leaving blackened streaks of gore on the pitted metal. Its jaws opened and closed and its remaining eye rolled in its socket until it locked onto Gartrell. It stared at him hungrily, with a mindless malevolence that he felt would terrify even a Great White shark. He reached behind him and grabbed Jolie’s arm, tugging her after him as he pushed the door open, sliding the thrashing corpse out of the way. Jaden’s struggles increased, and Jolie spoke to him as comfortingly as she could over the din of the hovering helicopters.

  Gartrell sidestepped the gory remains of the stenches that had been on the sidewalk. Above and behind their position, two AH-64D Apache Longbow attack helicopters hovered fifty feet above the buildings, their 30mm chainguns panning from left to right. Ahead, facing in the opposite direction on the other side of Second Avenue, another Apache bobbed in the breeze. Its chaingun barked as it fired on targets Gartrell couldn’t see, zeds that were hidden by the billowing smoke of the burning cars.

  Gee, if I’d known we’d be getting some close air support, I guess I could’ve saved my grenade.

  “Come on!” Gartrell shouted over
Jaden’s shrieking and the pounding thud of rotor beats. He hurried up the sidewalk, stepping around body parts and puddles of gore. Many of the zombies that had been mutilated in the attack were still functioning, and they crawled toward him, trailing shattered limbs or in several cases, nothing more than coiled ropes of intestine. Gartrell was able to walk around them without shooting them. Ammunition was at a premium right now, and he knew he would have more opportunities to go to guns on any number of stenches in the near future.

  “Oh my God!” Jolie cried, and Gartrell turned to find her staring at the shattered monstrosities that crept after them. “Oh, dear sweet Jesus!”

  “Keep moving! Don’t look at them, just keep moving!” As he spoke, Jaden suddenly began screaming. Gartrell turned and found a zombie advancing toward him in a crouch, its eyes fixed on him, its movements swift and certain. It wore a fireman’s uniform, and one arm had been half-devoured. As it darted toward him, hissing, Gartrell took one step back and raised the AA-12. He had forgotten how surprisingly fast some of the dead could be.

  One shot from the shotgun ensured it would no longer be a threat. The headless corpse collapsed to the street, black ichor shooting from the ragged stump of its neck.

  Jaden continued screaming and thrashed on Gartrell’s back despite his bonds. Behind them, the two hovering Apaches opened up again as more zeds came around the corner of Second Avenue and East 86th Street. Even though they were hundreds of feet away, the roar of their chainguns was loud, even for Gartrell, who wore hearing protectors beneath his radio headset. For Jaden and Jolie, who only had cotton balls in their ears, it must have been ten times worse. The zombies disappeared into spreading explosions of body parts, asphalt from the street, and chunks of concrete and glass blown out of nearby building façades. The Apaches’ cannons were fearsome weapons, but they were a little too imprecise for Gartrell’s taste at the moment, which was why they were classified as ‘area suppression weapons’—the guns kicked so hard that even the Apache itself rocked from side to side when firing.