Monster Nation(53)

People. Living people. Who had somehow scared off the armless freak.





Monster Nation





Chapter Two


CDC almost certain they can be pretty sure about one thing' maybe.

So the Centers for Disease Control sayshere that it's not a virus. Which builds on what we already knew fromthis spectacularly useful press release from the National Institute of Health, which claims it isn't a bacterium. So what the hell is it? In the meantime, here's your conspiracy theory of the week from Romenesko's:Man in Oklahoma claims rapture happened, only no one was fit to be saved.

[blog entry, DiseasePlanet.org, 4/8/05]

Clark ordered the HEMTT to a stop and leaned out his window to listen. In the distance, past a line of trees he heard a noise like paper being crumpled, over and over, interspersed with sharp bangs. He knew that sound. It was an automatic grenade launcher blowing the hell out of a city block. 'That's the Stryker group,' he told the driver and comms. After three days of hard fighting they both just looked numb.

It was a strange kind of conflict where the noise of automatic weapons fire meant safety, while unarmed civilians were your prime target. 'Firefight ahead, chief,' he shouted back at Horrocks. The sergeant snapped to attention. 'Get your people squared away.'

Horrocks snapped into action. 'Alright, everybody find your battle buddy, we've got trigger time coming up. You, you, you, take point'you six spread out and keep your eyes open. Look out for negligent discharge!'

In the truck's cabin the comms specialist spoke in a monotone into one of her cell phones. 'Stryker group three, this is assault element six. Assault element six calling, Stryker group three. Do you copy, please?'

'Five by five, Assault. We are holding onto a golf course approximately one quarter kilometer north and east of your location, taking heavy fire' scratch that, not fire, you know what I mean. We've got air support coming in from Buckley ANG to remove friendlies, can you assist?'

'On our way, Stryker group,' comms said, but they were already in the middle of it. The HEMTT crept forward into a leafy residential street and grumbled to a stop. Ten or so infected stood in the intersection, stumbling on ravaged legs. One of them turned to look directly at Clark through the windshield. He heard Horrocks shouting at Squad Two and the infected man's head erupted like a volcano. An infected woman in a bright red sweater came hurrying toward the truck, her long black hair floating behind her, still silky and full of body even though her face was grey and pitted with sores. The squad cut her down, too'and an old man in a pair of coveralls, and a teenaged boy wearing a sweatshirt. There were more of them and more coming down the street, perhaps drawn by the combat noise.

'Chief, we need to get through here,' Clark yelled out the window. The sergeant was on it, shouting for his platoon to deploy themselves in a semicircular formation before the truck. Clark addressed the HEMTT's driver. 'Specialist, take us in as slow as you can'let these men do their work without having to be afraid of getting run over.'

Inch by inch they pressed forward. The troops took their time, lined up their shots. There seemed to be no end of infected citizens for them to mow down but they had a sizeable advantage'they could think, for one thing, rather than just running blindly into a crossfire. They had the advantage of being able to strike from a distance. They had their training and discipline to fall back on.

'Stryker group, we are converging on your location but meeting heavy resistance,' comms said, holding her phone tight against her face. A bloody hand smacked against the window beside her face and she screamed. Clark drew his sidearm but the squads had already pulled the infected man off of the side of the truck and blown open his skull.

Out of the cab, beyond Clark's line of sight someone let loose with a sustained burst of automatic weapons fire'a pointless waste of ammunition and a sign that somebody had lost his or her cool. Clark climbed over the comms specialist and jumped down to the street to see what was happening. Infected crowded around on every side, more of them coming out of every side street, every alley, every garage and doorway. Clark loosed his weapon and shot down a bald man with no skin on the lower half of his face.

For a moment nothing was moving, no one was firing. Clark's mind immediately leapt to the pertinent question: why?

Why was he here, what did he hope to accomplish?

He was wasting his time, achieving nothing. The blonde girl with the tattoo could be anywhere by now, he thought, she could have slipped through his grasp already. Certainly he'd heard nothing from the Marine roadblock at Twenty-nine Palms.