Thunder and Ashes Page 21

  “Well, you can just start seeing it with the naked eye now,” said Wes, pointing north. Sherman squinted in the direction the man was indicating, and made out a wide line of figures heading in their direction. “Take a look through the binoculars. It’s quite a sight. Didn’t give these raiders enough points for ingenuity, that’s for sure.”

  Sherman took up a place behind the binoculars. He swiveled them on their tripod and looked through the lenses. Up close, the sight was enough to turn even a strong stomach. A quick estimate told him he was looking at between forty and fifty figures, and all of them were sprinters. Their bloody, ruined clothing and hateful expressions told him they were definitely infected, and the fact that they were running gave away the rest. Sherman refocused the binoculars, zooming them out somewhat, and saw two men dressed in hunting clothes, rifles strapped to their backs, riding dirt bikes a good hundred meters in front of the small horde.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Sherman whispered as he stared through the lenses. As he watched, the men on the dirt bikes revved their engines, heading straight for Abraham. Behind them, the horde changed direction to follow them, arms outstretched. Sherman could almost imagine their roars of protest each time their prey picked up and moved further away from them.

  “You may indeed,” Keaton replied. “It is kind of ingenious, like Wes said. They’re using bikers to lead the infected right to us.”

  Sherman remembered Thomas’ report of their action at the distribution facility the night before. The sergeant had mentioned that the raiders had two huge cages filled to the brim with infected just outside their main gates. Thomas and Krueger had guessed the infected were meant to serve as deterrents to possible attackers, but now Sherman saw that the raiders had been saving them up for an actual offensive purpose.

  “They’re using carriers as shock troops,” Sherman said, voice awed somewhat. “They’re going to actually use the infected to soften us up before they attack.”

  “Smart puppy, Herman Lutz,” Keaton said. “Oh, but that’s not the worst of it. Refocus behind the sprinters—a good half-mile back.”

  Sherman did as he was asked, jostled the binoculars until they focused in, and grimaced.

  Well behind the mob of sprinters was a second mob, just as large, made up entirely of shamblers. Two waves, then, one hitting at full speed and another hitting at a slow walk perhaps an hour later.

  Sherman stood and let the binoculars rest. He folded his arms and walked over to the edge of the tower, staring off in the direction of the incoming carriers. A thoughtful expression was etched across his features.

  “What’re you thinking about, Sherman?” Keaton asked, watching the general carefully.

  “I’m not sure,” Sherman replied. “Just a bit of a feeling.”

  “Well, let’s hear it,” Keaton said. “No secrets here.”

  “I’m thinking you’re right about this Herman guy,” Sherman said. “He’s smarter than people give him credit for. Here’s this horde of infected coming right down your front door, and leading them here are two men on bikes. Two. Where are the rest of his people?”

  “Sitting back and waiting for us to get softened up by the infected,” Deputy Willis volunteered. “Just like you said.”

  “The more I think about it the more it doesn’t sit right in my gut,” Sherman said. He rubbed his chin. “Have you given any orders to your people yet about these infected?”

  “Sure have,” Keaton said. “We’ve been on it since it was reported. All the deputies and volunteers are being armed right now and they’ll be reporting here to the main gates to hold off the infected once they arrive.”

  “All of them?” Sherman repeated, looking intently at the sheriff.

  “Every single able-bodied—” the sheriff began, then cut himself off, jaw dropping open as he saw what Sherman was getting at. “Wes, radio.”

  “Huh?” asked the deputy, busy peering through the binoculars once more.

  “Radio! Give me your damn radio!” Keaton repeated.

  The deputy handed over the device and went back to watching the oncoming enemy force. Keaton held the radio up to his mouth and clicked the transmit button.

  “Defense detail, come in. Defense detail, come in. Sheriff Keaton here, over,” Keaton spoke into the radio. A response came back almost immediately.

  “We’re here, Sheriff. Just arming the last of them now, and—”

  “Cancel that deployment order I gave you,” Keaton said. “Send half the men to the main gates. Send the other half to the back side of town. Tell them to take good cover and stay hidden.”

  Sherman smiled. Keaton had a military man’s mind. He’d thought of the same thing as Sherman: that the infected were a diversion.

  “Come again, Sheriff? We’re splitting our forces?” came the reply over the radio.

  “Hell yes, we are, and get to it! Tell the men you send to the backside of town to watch for an attempt at incursion. They’ll be trying to get in quietly,” Keaton said. “Double-time it down there. Out.”

  Keaton clicked the radio set off and handed it back to Wes, then turned to Sherman.

  “Was that what you were thinking?” Keaton asked.

  “To the letter,” Sherman said. Mayor York and Deputy Willis looked back and forth at one another, shrugging. They hadn’t followed. Sherman leaned on the edge of the guard tower and nodded in the direction of the approaching infected, explaining.

  “I’m thinking this is a diversion,” Sherman said. “Send out all the infected they’ve rounded up over the past couple of months straight to Abraham’s front door, and send them right across these open fields, where we’ll be sure to see them coming, with plenty of time to mobilize. We bring all our men here to defend against the carriers, and while we’re doing that, the raiders slip in the back door and go to work on the town. At least, that’s my hunch.”

  “What happens if you’re wrong?” York asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “Then we have to drive off all these carriers and an entire attacking raider force at fifty percent capacity,” Sherman said. “Even if I’m wrong, we can recall the men sent to the other side of town within a few minutes. I don’t think we’re risking too much, and it might save us if I’m right.”

  “I see,” York said, nodding slowly. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

  “Now we just have to wait and see what happens,” Keaton added. “Let’s hope our boys shoot straight and true today.”

  1345 hrs_

  Once again, the battle lines were drawn. Along the western edge of Abraham, a slapdash layer of sandbags provided minimal cover for riflemen strung out along the fenceline. An eighteen-wheeler had been driven forward to fully block the roadway, and the wooden barriers had been lowered. Three riflemen were stationed in each tower, and more had lined up behind the eighteen-wheeler, laying behind semicircular bunkers made of sandbags.

  Across town was the second element of the defense force. Denton and Krueger found themselves among the platoon’s-worth of men who responded to the call to reinforce the rear of Abraham, as were Jack and Mitsui. Here, things looked and felt less battle-ready. No sandbags had been brought forth for cover, and the volunteer deputies and civilian soldiers instead took cover behind yard fences, parked cars, trees and landscaping, all carefully watching the fence and the thin forest beyond for enemy activity. Conversation, what little there was of it, was subdued.

  Near the main gates, the revving of the dirt bike’s engines grew louder as the carrier-wranglers drew ever closer. In the guard tower, Deputy Willis adjusted the range on the scope of his rifle, drawing a bead on one of the bikers as he accelerated across the field. His finger tightened on the trigger, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Sheriff Keaton looked down at the man and shook his head.

  “Wait,” he said. “Let them get a little closer first.”

  The bikers sped across the field until they were nearly in front of the main gates themselves. They skidded to a stop, kicking up small c
louds of dirt. One of them turned and lifted the visor of his helmet so the defenders could see his face.

  “Enjoy the company,” taunted the man. “Lutz says you people have it com—”

  “All right, he’s close enough now,” Keaton said, tapping Willis on the shoulder.

  Wes fired, and the taunting biker was blown backwards off his vehicle. He shuddered once, tried to lift himself off of the ground, and then lay still. The bike tipped over on its side, engine still idling. The remaining biker flipped off the defenders and gunned his engine, accelerating sharply. He got on the main road and vanished within moments.

  The sprinters, unaware of the verbal exchange, charged onward. They caught up to the body of the heckler and surrounded it in moments, hunching over it and tearing at the man’s flesh, biting and scratching. Willis swallowed back bile as he watched.

  “All right, men,” Keaton said, looking left and right at his defensive line. “Careful shots, now. Drop ’em.”

  Rifle fire began to ring out along the fenceline as shooters picked their targets and squeezed their triggers. Several of the feasting carriers jerked and spasmed, falling to the ground. A dozen or so still approaching the scene shifted their attention from the downed biker to the riflemen along the fenceline, and turned almost as one, sprinting straight for the chain link. The riflemen in turn shifted their fire. Sprays of bright red arterial blood flew up from the backs of the oncoming carriers as rifle ammunition tore through them. Here and there a carrier dropped permanently, skulls split open by headshots. Most went down with wounds to the chest or legs.

  Several of the carriers reached the fences, threw themselves against the metal and tried to rip their way through. The fences easily held up to their attempts. The riflemen on the other side had an easy time dealing with these carriers, aiming at point-blank range and dropping them with shots to the head.

  Meanwhile, the two-dozen or so that had surrounded the downed biker were rapidly losing interest. The corpse of the man was thoroughly ravaged, and they began to cast about for new prey. The second biker had long since vanished down the road, and the only remaining targets were the defenders of Abraham. The sprinters turned their attention to them, roaring and running full-tilt toward the fences.

  Suddenly the riflemen found not half a dozen angry infected tearing at their defenses, but nearly three dozen. Rifle shots rang out with more frequency, and the shaking of the fence increased in intensity. The steel wire holding the chain link to its posts creaked ominously.

  “Put them down! Gun for the ones on the fenceline!” Keaton ordered, shouting down from the guard tower. Carriers grasping the fence were riddled with bullets. One by one, they dropped free, falling on their backs in the grass. Some twitched out of residual reflex actions. Others lay still, bullet wounds in their heads.

  Thomas was in his element, bandaged arm and all, holding aloft his pistol and jogging up and down the line, shouting encouraging comments or yelling obscenities at the less adept marksmen. Every now and then, he would halt in place, take aim, and put a round through a carrier hanging on the fence.

  The sudden fury of the combined assault on the section of fence near the gate was taking its toll. One by one, the steel loops used to hold the fence securely to its posts began to spring free with loud pings. The upper corner of the fence sagged free, and the riflemen redoubled their efforts.

  Keaton leaned out over the guard tower to shout instructions.

  “Forget the heads for now! Just gun ’em down! Get ‘em on the ground! We’ll clean up after! Don’t let that fence fall!” Keaton shouted. He knew that if the fence went down and they left a gap in their defenses, the second mob of shamblers would have an easy access point into the town. With their force split down the middle, they would be hard pressed to kill them all safely.

  The townsfolk and deputies shifted their fire, taking easy chest shots. Bloodspray filled the air beyond the fence as carrier after carrier fell to the ground. The gunfire began to slacken after a minute as the number of carriers decreased. Soon, only a handful remained, still roaring in fury and pulling on the fence with fevered intensity. They were put down one by one until not a single sprinter remained on its feet.

  The riflemen looked back and forth at one another, then broke out into nervous laughter. They’d beaten back the attackers.

  “Knock it off!” Keaton yelled suddenly from the guard tower, and the laughter died out. “We’re not even halfway done yet! Five men with pistols, meet me at the main gate!”

  Keaton descended the ladder that led from the tower with sure-handed swiftness, sliding down the last few rungs and spinning on his heels. He drew his weapon, checked the chamber, and nodded to himself. He looked around for his volunteers.

  Thomas was the closest and the first. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. Deputy Willis tried to follow the sheriff, but Keaton turned and pointed him back up into the guard tower, explaining that they needed his hands on a rifle and a vantage point. Keaton and Thomas were joined instead by three of Keaton’s deputies, all wielding pistols. Their rifles were slung across their backs.

  “All right, guys, you know the drill,” Keaton said. “We go out there, moving fast, put a bullet into the head of any one of those bodies that doesn’t already have one, and then get back behind the defensive line. Ready?”

  The men nodded their assent, and Thomas grumbled something about always being ready.

  “Let’s move,” Keaton ordered, ducking under the eighteen-wheeler that was blocking the road and coming up on the other side with his weapon at the ready. He shouted up to Willis in the guard tower. “Keep us covered, Wes! Let us know if we’re going to have company!”

  “I hear you!

  The five volunteers ran around the towers to the scene of the battle. The grass was a rust brown, stained with blood, and the fence hung loose in two places. Bodies lay scattered in the field here and there, some twisted into unnatural positions, having fallen hard and broken their own limbs.

  “Let’s go to work,” Keaton said.

  The detail got down to the dirty, unenviable job of finishing off the sprinters. Thomas took his time, unhurriedly walking from body to body, inspecting the skulls, and firing once into their foreheads if he couldn’t locate a head wound.

  The deputies worked on the fenceline. Staccato bursts of pistol-fire rang out as they finished off the bodies laying there, one after another. Keaton roamed farthest afield, checking the bodies that had been killed before they’d gotten near the defenders. He knelt next to one, turned the head to inspect it, and grimaced. He stood, took aim, and fired a round through the body’s temple.

  “You never get used to it,” he said, loudly enough for Thomas to overhear him several meters away.

  Thomas finished off another sprinter before replying. “Get used to what? Killing the infected? Gotta disagree. I’m damn well used to it.”

  “No, I mean finishing off the sprinters before they get back up,” Keaton replied, checking another body. This one had an existing head wound, and he left it behind for the carrion crows. “I get the feeling like I’m desecrating a body. You know, there used to be respect for you when you died.”

  “Can’t be helped,” was Thomas’ terse reply. He toed a corpse, then fired a shot through the body’s eyesocket. “Either this or do it again when they’re up and about.”

  “It’s just that they look almost normal when they’re dead like this,” Keaton replied as he ambled over toward another body. “Then they—whoa!”

  The body he had been walking toward suddenly snapped its eyes open and began to sit up, movements slow and awkward. The Sheriff looked over at Thomas.

  “Well, they do that,” Keaton said, pointing at the newly re-born shambler. “Unsettling fuckers.”

  Keaton’s next shot took the new shambler between the eyes. The creature sat up in place for a moment, blood trickling down the middle of its forehead, then slumped backwards again to lay in almost the exact position it had been in be
fore reanimation.

  “Nice shot,” Thomas grumbled. “Next time, do it before the damn thing gets back up.”

  Keaton chuckled by way of reply, and the pair rejoined the three deputies who were finishing off the bodies at the fenceline.

  “Sheriff!” came Deputy Willis’ call from the tower above.

  Keaton looked up. “Yeah?”

  “Those shamblers are getting to be pretty close,” Wes said.

  He stretched out a hand and pointed, and Keaton turned to look. The second mob, made up entirely of shamblers, had been lagging behind their faster cousins by a wide margin. Now, they were catching up. Keaton estimated they were three hundred, maybe three hundred and fifty feet away. They still had a minute or two before they would be close enough to do any damage.

  “Are these bodies taken care of?” Keaton asked, whirling on a deputy.

  “Yeah, Sheriff, we pegged all of ‘em,” said the deputy.

  “You’re sure? Every one?”

  “Every last one. They’re dead for good.”

  “All right.” Keaton nodded his approval. “Back inside the fences, all of you. Hurry!”

  The five exterminators ran back around the guard towers and ducked under the eighteen wheeler once more. When Keaton came up on the defended side, he froze. In front of him was General Sherman holding a pistol and blocking his way.

  “What’s up, Sherman?” Keaton asked, eyeing the pistol and, for the most fleeting of moments, wondering if this was a coup attempt.

  “What’s up is your feet,” Sherman said. “Take a look.”

  Keaton, Thomas, and the three volunteer deputies simultaneously looked down at their shoes. Their footwear was coated in the shed blood of the carriers. Specks of it had landed on their pants and one of them even had a bit of spatter on his shirt.

  “That blood is hot,” Sherman went on. “It’s infected, and unless you five deal with it properly, you’ll be infected, too.”

  Keaton felt his own blood turn to ice. Sherman was right. He hadn’t even thought about that when he’d had the men and Thomas go out into the field to exterminate the carriers. “Damn it. What do we do?”