Rise of the Undead (Book 5): Apocalypse Z Page 11

  Helping hands reached out to take Rita off their hands as Saul scrambled to the front. Jackson’s teammates, Mason and Jerry, covered the injured woman with a blanket. After a quick examination of Rita’s bandaged arm, Mason turned to Dylan. “What am I dealing with here?”

  “Her arm is broken, shattered more like, and its sticking through the flesh. She’s bleeding a lot,” Dylan explained.

  “Thanks.” Mason pulled out a medical kit from behind the seat and gave Rita a shot. The woman immediately relaxed, and her head lolled on her neck. “That should take the edge off, but I can’t give her too much. We need to loosen this belt.”

  “She’ll bleed to death,” Dylan protested.

  “She could lose the arm if I don’t allow any circulation,” Mason replied.

  At the same time that Mason and Jerry worked on Rita, Saul pulled the radio from his jacket and lifted it to his lips. “Ginger, can you get out of your vehicle? We’re coming to fetch you. Over.”

  “I.I’ll try,” Ginger replied. “Over.”

  “Hurry,” Saul replied. “Let’s get him, Jackson.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  Jackson raced across the grounds, and the distance between them and Ginger closed rapidly. Just before they reached him, the radio flared to life again. It was Richard.

  “Saul. My team and I are making a run for it. We’re heading toward the woods. Once you have Ginger, get the hell out of there. We’ll meet you on the road. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Saul replied after a moment’s silence. “Good luck, Sergeant. Over.”

  “Good luck to you, too,” Richard replied. “Over.”

  Silence fell inside the cab as each person absorbed the news. The chances were good that Richard and his team wouldn’t make it. Their own lives hung on a thread as well. It all depended on whether they hit another landmine or not.

  Dylan closed her eyes and sent up a silent plea. Please, don’t let us hit a mine. Please, please, please.

  Jackson hung back from the fence, however, not getting too close, and they made it without incident. As he slammed on the brakes behind Ginger’s wrecked Humvee, Dylan opened the door and shouted, “Get in, Ginger. Move it.”

  Ginger launched himself at the opening, and he half fell across Dylan’s lap as she reached out to close the door. Bullets followed in his wake, and she pulled back with a sharp cry. With the door still flapping open, she yelled, “Go, Jackson!”

  Jackson pulled away with a roar of the engine, but a spray of bullets peppered the inside of the cab. Dylan screamed as white-hot agony blossomed in her upper arm, echoed by the startled cries of the others. Ginger grunted as two bullets punched into his back, and he tumbled off the seat into the footwell.

  “Ginger,” Dylan cried. The door was still open, flapping in the wind. Ignoring the flaring pain in her arm, she leaned over and grabbed the handle, swinging it shut. It closed, sealing them back inside the relative safety of the Humvee.

  Jackson wasted no time in heading for the road. They needed to put distance between themselves and King’s men. They also need to find Richard’s party.

  But none of that mattered to Dylan. She reached down to tug at Ginger’s inert body. He lay on his stomach, and the bullet holes in his back wept blood in steady streams. “Mason, I need your help. Ginger’s been hit.”

  Mason and Jerry pulled Ginger out of the footwell onto the seat and rolled him onto his back. The front of his jacket was bathed in crimson, and his eyes rolled from side to side as he choked on the fluid filling his lungs.

  “Do something,” Dylan cried, her hand clamped across the wound in her arm.

  Mason gave Ginger a quick examination before straightening up with a shake of his head. “It’s too late.”

  “It can’t be,” Dylan said, not willing to give up. “There has to be something you can do.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mason said, his face expressionless.

  Ginger choked out a garbled cry before falling silent, and his head slumped onto his chest. “Ginger? Ginger!”

  Despite her frantic entreaties, Ginger failed to respond. He was gone, and Dylan fell back in her seat with angry tears burning her eyelids.

  Mason climbed over Ginger’s body and reached for her arm, but she slapped his hands away. “Leave it. It’s just a scratch.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he growled. “At least, let me bandage it,” Mason said.

  “Fine,” she said, closing her eyes while he wound a bandage around the limb. Satisfied, Mason crawled back to Rita’s side, checking her pulse.

  Dylan stared at the scenery that flashed by the window, the bitter taste of defeat on her lips. They’d failed. Not only that, but they’d lost several excellent teammates. Not just teammates, but friends.

  The only bright spot came when they found Richard and Misty by the side of the road. As the two climbed inside, Dylan stared at the empty space behind them. “Dan?”

  Misty glanced at her with swollen eyes. “He didn’t make it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dylan said, but the words were meaningless. Nothing made sense in the wake of the losses they’d suffered.

  “Aren’t we all,” Richard said with a grunt as he settled into his seat. His gaze fell upon Ginger’s lifeless body, and he sighed. “This was a mistake.”

  And it was—an awful, awful mistake.

  Chapter 18 - Tara

  On the morning of the attack, Tara drifted about the lab aimlessly. She found herself unable to sleep and got up at four to shower and dress. She tried to work but couldn’t focus on anything, especially her research. Her mind kept flashing back to the guard she’d murdered. James Dean. A name she would never forget for as long as she lived.

  Her ears still rang with the echoes of his screams, and the image of his pleading eyes flashed through her mind at odd moments.

  “Kill me, please,” he’d begged, and she’d ignored him. She’d left him to die an awful, agonizing death, and for what? Nothing.

  She was still a prisoner; only now, she was starting to lose hope. What was the point, after all? She refused to work for King, and she refused to let Bannock steal her work. Neither of them deserved it, yet where did that leave her?

  She knew that King had reached the limits of his patience. If she didn’t produce something soon, he’d make sure she suffered a terrible fate. The problem was, Tara didn’t think it mattered anymore. If she was doomed to be a prisoner, she’d rather die. Maybe I deserve to die. I’m a murderer—a torturer.

  Her right hand brushed across a scalpel, the same kind she’d used to attack James Dean. The smell of blood filled her nostrils, even though it was impossible. She’d washed away the evidence of his death the day before. She’d mopped up the thick, viscous fluid that pooled on the floor, and disinfected every surface until the lab stank of chemicals. And still, she smelled it.

  She’d done all that while he howled and snarled at her from his cage. His dark eyes, no longer human, had radiated the hate she now felt for herself. The loathing she saw when she looked in the mirror. It was all part of her punishment. Killer.

  Crimson on white tiles.

  Red on her skin.

  Blood on her hands.

  Tara breathed in through her nose, and her lips twisted into an angry snarl. “Why can I still smell it?”

  With a loud cry, she swept her hands across the counter. Glass vials and beakers went flying. They shattered on the floor and shards of glass gleamed in the fluorescent lights. As quickly as her rage came, it went. James Dean’s death was no one’s fault but her own.

  Her shoulders slumped with defeat, and she bent to clean up the mess. A piece of glass nicked her thumb, and she stared as a droplet of blood welled to the surface. Her nostrils flared, and bile pushed up her throat. With trembling fingers, she picked up a jagged chunk of glass and pressed it to the inside of her wrist. The vein gleamed blue below the surface of her skin. All it would take was one swift cut up to the elbow, and it would all be over.

 
Tara dropped the glass. “No. I might be a murderer, but I’m not a coward. I won’t give up so soon. I won’t give up at all.”

  She got to her feet and fetched a broom. With brisk efficiency, she tidied up the mess she’d made and tossed away the debris. Afterward, she poured herself a cup of coffee and stared out onto the grounds. It was still early. The sun wasn’t even up yet. Maybe I should try to get some rest.

  Before she could move, the door to the lab opened. She whirled around to find Bannock framed in the entrance. “Good morning, Dr. Lee.”

  “It was until you got here,” she replied with a frown. “Talking of which, why are you here so early?”

  “I came to warn you,” Bannock said, stepping inside the lab. The door swooshed shut behind him. “And to watch you.”

  “Watch me? Are you afraid I’ll try to escape again?” Tara asked with a low laugh. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve got no plans to run today.”

  “Your friends are here to rescue you,” Bannock said, his expression smooth.

  Tara gasped. “What?”

  “They’re out there, in the dark, waiting,” he continued unperturbed. “Not that it will do them any good.”

  “What do you mean?” Tara asked, desperate for information.

  “We know they’re there. We have watchers on all the main routes, and they warned us they were coming,” Bannock said.

  “Aren’t you even a little worried?” Tara asked. “Saul is an experienced fighter.”

  “Perhaps, but he’s rushing into a fight without knowing what he’s up against,” Bannock said. “As they say, love is blind, no?”

  “Maybe, you’re underestimating him,” Tara said with gritted teeth, rage kindling in the pit of her stomach.

  “I doubt it. King has several surprises in store for your would-be rescuers. They don’t stand a chance.” Bannock smiled at her. “There is no hope, dear. Give it up.”

  “If that’s the case, why are you here?” Tara asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “To be honest, I’d rather be anywhere else. Somewhere I can watch your friends get blown to pieces preferably, but King seems to think you need a baby sitter,” Bannock said.

  “And you’re it?” Tara asked with a mocking laugh. “You, the epitome of wasted humanity wrapped up in one sad, balding little man?”

  Bannock colored as hot blood flushed his cheeks. “You know, Dr. Lee. One day, I’ll happily watch while King’s men flay the flesh from your bones, but only after they’ve had their fill of you.”

  Tara sneered at him. “I’ll see you dead before that day ever comes, little man. I’m smarter than you, and you saw what I did to the last person that got in my way.”

  “Yes, I saw what remained of James. Did you know he had a wife and two kids? He was planning on fetching them once this was all over. They’re in some survivor compound not far from here. Now, his children will never see their father again.”

  With casual care, Bannock poured himself a cup of coffee. Steam rose from the mug as he stirred in a couple of spoonfuls of sugar and creamer. With the cup in one hand, he sat down on a chair and stared at her with amused eyes. “Did you know he wasn’t even a real criminal? He got locked up for a misdemeanor. A bar fight where someone got hurt. He would’ve spent a total of three months inside if it wasn’t for the apocalypse.”

  Tara stared at him, trying not to reveal how much his words pained her. Finally, she turned back to the window. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Dr. Bannock.”

  “I’ll remember that,” he answered, “But I do believe your bark is worse than your bite, my dear.”

  Tara fixed her gaze on the grounds below. She refused to let him upset her further. Instead, her mind reached out into the darkness, searching for Saul. If you’re out there, stay safe, my love. Don’t let them beat you down.

  After that, time passed until it became a meaningless blur. The sun rose, and Saul launched his attack. She knew it was him out there. She knew he’d come for her. Hope filled her chest as she watched the Humvees race across the grounds only to disappear in explosions of earth and debris as they hit the landmines.

  She watched them scurry about like rats in a trap, beaten down by a barrage of gunfire. One, two, three vehicles fell until there was only one left. One lone Humvee that desperately tried to save the remaining souls that had come to rescue her.

  The entire time, Tara was aware of Dr. Bannock’s mocking gaze. His eyes burned into the back of her skull, delighting in every second of her humiliation. She long to rail and scream at him, and indulged in wild fantasies of gouging out his eyes with her bare hands. Yet, in the end. It was all for nothing.

  Saul and his remaining soldiers retreated, and she was left without hope once more. Despair flooded her veins, and she fought against the urge to sink to her knees and cry. She wouldn’t give Bannock the satisfaction, though. Not today, little man. Not ever.

  “Oh, dear. It seems your friends have lost the battle, and by tomorrow, they ‘ll have lost the war,” Bannock said with a smirk. “For you see, King has decided to launch a counter-attack. It’s the last thing your people will expect after this defeat. He’ll surprise them with overwhelming force and superior firepower, and Fort Detrick will fall.”

  “When?” she asked, her voice hoarse with unshed grief.

  “Tonight,” Bannock replied. “By this time tomorrow, your friends will be dead.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. You don’t control fate, Dr. Bannock,” Tara said.

  “It’s over, Dr. Lee. The sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for you,” Bannock said with an exasperated sigh. He stood up and walked to the exit. “I’ll leave you in peace for now. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve had to endure.”

  Tara didn’t reply, fixing her gaze into the distance.

  “You can ignore me all you like, but I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning. We’ve got work to do, after all,” Bannock said.

  Tara still didn’t reply. Instead, she absorbed the information and allowed it into her heart. It mingled with the hurt and anguish already present and solidified into a ball of pure hatred. It replaced the guilt and despair of before, strengthening her will and sharpening her mind.

  As the door closed behind Bannock, a predatory smile twisted her lips. “No matter what happens tonight, I’ll see you in hell, Dr. Bannock. That’s a promise.”

  Chapter 19 -Saul

  Saul sat in silence for the entire trip back to Fort Detrick. Guilt coursed through his veins, growing stronger with each mile that passed. He dared not look at any of his teammates, for it only worsened the burden. They were volunteers, every one of them. More than that, they were friends. And I failed them.

  The knowledge that he’d made a mistake weighed on his conscience. An error that cost the lives of four good people and might still claim the life of a fifth. All because he’d allowed his love for Tara to overrule his good sense. I don’t deserve to be a leader anymore. I don’t deserve my position or my rank, and I certainly don’t deserve my team’s trust.

  The Humvee hit a bump in the road, and Rita cried out with pain. Saul winced, the sound of her suffering cutting deep into his heart. It competed with the loss of Tara. As much as he’d wronged his team, he’d also hurt her. What must she be going through now?

  But, as much as he suffered for the terrible decisions he’d made, he was also angry. No, not angry. Enraged. Pure, distilled hatred burned in the pit of his stomach whenever he thought of King’s triumph. The very fact that the man was still alive was an insult to his nature.

  “What do you think King will do now?” Jackson asked in a low voice.

  “I don’t know,” Saul answered, but it wasn’t strictly true.

  King was an egomaniac, and today’s victory would only further inflate his sense of self-worth. The smart thing to do would be to sit tight and dig in. With the minefield and machine guns in place, his position was secure. But would he? Or would he decide the time was right to l
aunch a counter-attack? If he does, we’d better be ready for him.

  When they reached Fort Detrick, Saul felt a wave of shame wash over him. The previous night, four Humvees had left the base operated by twelve capable fighters. Today, one vehicle returned, carrying a total of nine people of whom one was dead and two were injured.

  The guard at the gate recognized them and waved them through. “Go ahead.”

  Saul leaned out of the window as they passed and said, “Tell Sergeant Dean we’re back, and we’ve got wounded that need urgent care.”

  The guard nodded and reached for his radio. “Will do, Sergeant.”

  Jackson drove straight toward the infirmary and stopped in front of the entrance without wasting a second. Saul jumped out and ran up the steps. “Help, we need help over here!”

  Ethan met him halfway down the hall, flanked by two nurses. “I just received word from Nick. How many injured do you have?”

  “Two injured and one dead,” Saul replied.

  Ethan turned to the nurses and said, “Fetch three gurneys, please, and prep the emergency room. It’s all hands on deck.”

  The nurses rushed away to comply, and within seconds more staff arrived with the required equipment. They met Mason and Jerry at the entrance, half-carrying Rita between them. They lifted her onto the gurney, and she was wheeled to the emergency room.

  Dylan hovered in the background, one hand clamped over her bleeding arm. Ethan stopped short when he saw her, and his lips tightened. He kept up a front of professionalism, however, and waved her to the second gurney. “Let’s go.”

  “I can walk,” she protested, but he ignored her.

  “Just get on the bed, Dylan. I don’t have all day.”

  She obeyed, and Saul wished she’d listen to him that quickly. “Get better, Dylan.”

  “I’ll be fine. It’s just a scratch,” she replied.

  “Look out for Rita, will you?” he added. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “She’ll be fine, I promise,” Dylan said, waving at him as she was wheeled away.