Miguel dragged the two chains—one in each hand—toward the disabled vehicle. His work would take mere seconds, but seconds were in short supply. He stepped around a skinny undead woman in a black tank top that read ‘Pink.’ The limping corpse reached clumsily for Miguel, and then turned in pursuit. Carl took aim, pulled his trigger, and watched a plume of black skull fragments erupt from the monster’s cranium.
Pam fired at a blood-covered child that scrabbled after Sergeant Ornstein. The skin was torn from its fingers, and dried bloody crusts of its flesh caked around exposed bone. The monster tumbled lifelessly to the ground, and Pam looked for another target. She aimed at the head of a man in a bathrobe, his abdomen torn open and his intestines dragging on the ground. She put a bullet in his skull. A dead woman in a police uniform followed. Pam fired. Next came an elderly man in overalls, his beard matted thickly with blood. Down. A tattered woman missing one arm stumbled clumsily toward the convoy crewman. Click. Pam’s stomach dropped.
“Ornstein! Behind you!” She screamed, but her shout was drowned in the tumult. Ornstein was oblivious. Firing shot after shot into the approaching swarm, his attention was focused on the mass working its way toward them.
Frantically, Pam punched her communication system. “Ornstein! Look out!” She jumped from the top of her Humvee and broke into a sprint.
The one-armed woman wrapped herself around Ornstein, and dug her teeth into his shoulder. Blood shot from an artery, and Ornstein stumbled backward under the woman’s weight. Ornstein twisted out of her grip and shoved her off him, before unloading a series of rifle shots into her face.
Pam rushed to Ornstein, but he shook his head and waved her away. He fell to one knee as blood poured from his severed artery. Ornstein then dropped his empty rifle and drew his sidearm. A ghoul in ragged blue jeans and a t-shirt stumbled towards him. Ornstein put a pistol shot through the monster’s knee. It tumbled into him and they fell to the ground. Ornstein’s attacker was joined by a second, and then a third ghoul, and his screams of agony were carried away by the thunder of the helicopter above.
“No!” Richards shouted. He rushed over to Pam with his sidearm drawn. He nearly went weak in the knees when he saw the monsters tearing into Ornstein.
“No…” he mumbled, but the undead were already losing interest in Ornstein and locking onto Pam and Richards with murderous intent.
A ring of undead began to press in on Pam and Richards. They backed toward the rear hummer. A wall of leering faces and outstretched claws reached for them.
“Get back in the cars!” Carl screamed. He watched as Sergeant Quinn swung his empty rifle like a club at a mass of walking corpses. Specialist MacAfee joined him with his combat knife, stabbing at snarling ghouls. Private Barona had fixed his bayonet to his rifle. He jabbed at the monsters closing around him. The three soldiers were fighting back to back. The horde surrounded them.
Suddenly, Private Barona went down under a dog pile of undead. MacAfee dove after him, and both of them vanished into the swarm. Quinn realized he was surrounded. He climbed a pile of corpses in hopes of gaining the high ground. He smashed his rifle into undead arms and faces. All the while, he looked back toward the spot where his fellow soldiers had fallen. He was searching, hoping his friends would emerge triumphant. No one did.
Quinn lost his footing, stumbled, and fell. He vanished into the mound of corpses. Within seconds, a dozen ravenous ghouls were upon him.
Miguel finished the work of securing the lead car to the second, and he turned around to find ten zombies closing in on him. Cut off from his comrades, he hoisted himself atop the Humvee. Rotting undead claws reached for him while he pounded frantically on the Humvee gun hatch. Miguel kicked and punched the ghouls who climbed after him. Just as it looked as though he would be overtaken, the hatch flung open. Miguel slipped inside, closed it behind him, and the vehicle disappeared beneath a shrieking pile of insane monsters.
Richards turned to Pam and nodded at her, “Get inside!” he screamed. Turning back toward the wall of undead that surrounded them, he barreled forward… holding his rifle like a club.
“No!” Pam screamed in protest. It was too late, and as quickly as Richards killed a ghoul, two more jumped on him. The first bite took a chunk out of his forearm, and the second, his thigh.
“Go! Get inside! Go!” Richards screamed as he fell.
Pam’s eyes welled with tears as her comrade was torn apart. Wordlessly, she opened the Humvee, pulled herself into it, and closed the door behind her. The thunder of the helicopter above was muffled by the rain of dozens of fists beating on the vehicle’s armored shell.
Carl watched as his team was consumed by the onslaught. The Super Cobra had backed away from the onramp and moved directly above him. It rotated in position, unleashing a constant stream of destruction into the undead. Their bodies piled high in a ring, and their mangled comrades relentlessly clambered over the heaps.
Pam was now in the rear Humvee, and Miguel in the disabled middle. They and the children were safe for the moment. They would have to leave now if there was any hope for survival, and Carl reluctantly slid in through the gun hatch of his own lead vehicle. He sealed the hatch behind him. More walking dead came to press themselves against his windows and hiss hungrily at the living within. The children in the back of Carl’s Hummer wept hysterically.
Carl bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment. He was dizzy, conflicted, angry — overwhelmed by the loss of his men. These weren’t the first men he had lost, but there was something different this time. He felt like he was leaving something behind… something vital. Shifting the vehicle into gear was a feat of will.
“Dammit!” He shouted. “God dammit! God fucking dammit!” Carl opened his eyes, hit the gas, and jolted forward through the mass of bodies that lay before him. “Fuck you, you goddamn motherfuckers!”
His engine protested against the weight of the second vehicle dragging behind him. He looked in his rearview mirror. The third Humvee erupted out of the mob to follow his lead. After a few minutes, the mayhem vanished behind them. The wail of the undead faded and the roar of the helicopter quieted as it ascended. Vacant highway stretched before them, and the convoy was heading home.
“God fucking dammit!” he screamed again as he plowed through a handful of undead. “Fuck you!” he swerved and smashed into a rotting cadaver wearing a tattered business suit.
“You’re clear, Convoy Nineteen.” The voice of Air Zero came over the network somberly. “You’re clear.”
“Goddamn motherfucking shit!” Carl screamed, pounding the roof of his vehicle with his fist over and over again.
“You’re clear.”
Chapter 17
“The convoys are at their end, Admiral,” Dr. Henry Damico stated confidently. He stood on the bridge of the Aircraft carrier. The sounds of the command center seemed to fade away as the Admiral’s attention focused on him. “It’s time to pull our remaining ground forces out, ration the resources we have, and say goodbye to the mainland for a while.”
Admiral McMillan set his jaw and nodded in agreement. He received daily reports from San Diego, and Henry’s recommendation aligned with the information he had been getting for weeks. Henry could tell the Admiral had been waiting for the moment when he could finally cut the fleets tether to a mainland overflowing with walking dead and helpless civilian refugees. “I’ll order Captain Sheridan to reserve one convoy mission to San Onofre and withdrawal from the docks.”
“San Onofre?” One of the senators sitting behind the Admiral inquired with a curious tone.