World War Z: Tip of the Spear
Ashes to Ashes
By: Robert H. Gordon Jr.
The Slums of Marrakesh, Morocco 0830z
An air raid siren wailed loud and continuous. Smoke soiled the morning air; a dense dirty fog which choked and stung the eyes. The sun-bleached buildings were marred by the signs of war. Everywhere was chaos; screaming, running, gunfire, explosions coming from all directions. Order was a forgotten concept, reason an abandoned idea. It was everyone for themselves in a free-for-all of survival and absolute terror. The virus had come for another metropolis. Marrakesh was becoming a city of the living dead.
"Contacts coming in!"
"I'm on it!"
"I've got 'em at twelve and ten!"
"Three and five!"
M4 assault rifles barked fire and metal at shambling figures in the smoke. A low keening sound appeared amidst the din; the ever-present moan of the damned. The rifles kicked and the figures fell but there were more. There were always more.
"Nate, get that piece of shit up and running!"
"Almost done!" replied Nathan George former Army Specialist now a veteran member of Special Ops Alpha Unit 1-34. Sweat dripping from his youthful chiseled features; he lugged a decrepit gas-powered generator over to a pick-up truck. Plugging in an extension cord, he split it, stripping away the insulation, exposing the wires. He wrapped the ends around the terminals for the truck's battery.
His team had been tasked with destroying the last bridge connecting the slums to Marrakesh's main metropolitan area; effectively cutting off the bulk of the city's population along with the rising number of infected. During the mission they had received a frantic call for help from a British Alpha Team. With their mission all but complete, Nathan, his Team Leader Hicks, and their Medic Melina Cruz had moved to intercept but had gotten cut off both from the British team and from the bridge.
"Cruz they're bunching up at your two o'clock!" Hicks yelled; his all-American face streaked with sweat and grime.
"I got 'em!" Cruz braced the barrel of her rifle against a nearby wall and quick-fired four rounds that dropped all of the encroaching infected. Switching magazines, she took note of her reserves. "We can't do this all day, Sarge!" Tucking a wayward lock of black hair behind an ear she sighted down her rifle, seeking more targets.
Hicks put a hand to his throat activating the microphone there. "Kelly, Hicks what's our exit looking like?"
Two miles away the fourth and final member of the team lay prone on the roof of an abandoned store, every exposed part of the ginger's pale skin turning red under the harsh African sun. He was monitoring the bridge through the scope of his M24 sniper rifle. There was no living traffic, only a score of infected lurching their way toward him. He dropped three of them who had crossed the middle of the span adding to the pile of bodies strewn about. Hearing his commanding officer's request he keyed up his mike. "Sarge it's starting to get pretty thick. You need to get those guys and get back here pronto."
Back in the fight Hicks took down three targets that had gotten too close. "You hear that Nate?" he yelled over his shoulder. Not getting a response he turned around. "Nate? NATHAN, LOOK OUT!"
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end registering the invasion of his personal space. Nathan turned, his peripheral vision unconsciously confirming his fears. His body burning with the impulses streaking to his limbs, he struck the outstretched arms of the infected man above the elbow, driving the attack sideways. His left hand drew a knife from its sheath at his back and plunged it into his attacker's temple. He pressed it home giving the blade a violent twist.
The infected man, a fat bearded Arab, shuddered and collapsed. Nathan had already forgotten about him. He could see the open door leading further into the home in whose garage they had taken shelter. There were two more infected coming. One was a woman, burkha torn, revealing a mangled body. The other was a child sporting a ruined nub where her tiny hand should have been. Nathan dropped his knife with the body and drew his M9 Beretta. Two quick shots brought peace to a mother and her child.
Nathan holstered the pistol and retrieved his knife, wiping the black goo and brains on the leg of his digi-cam jumpsuit, before going back to the truck. The connections established, he yanked at the pull-cord for the generator. It started after three tries. Sparks flew at the terminal as the electricity traveled its unconventional path into the battery. Nathan jumped in the driver's seat and tried the engine. It sputtered, playing at starting. He waited a few more seconds.
"C'mon Nate," urged Hicks.
"Almost!" he replied.
"I've got contact!" Cruz yelled, raising her rifle.
"Don't shoot!" The figure raised his arms taking two quick steps forward. "Corporal Wesley Shipp, Her Majesty's Special Forces." Lanky and black-haired, he was dressed in blood-soaked woodland fatigues and wearing a green beret. His face was smeared with camouflaging greasepaint suitable for a lush jungle environment, not the arid tan and beige of the North African Coast.
"Are you wounded?" asked Cruz, her weapon still trained.
"It's not my blood," Shipp said.
"Where's your weapon, Corporal?" Hicks asked.
Shipp jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Back there with those bastards," he paused, "and what's left of my mates."
"You're the only one?" Cruz asked. Shipp nodded. Cruz finally lowered her weapon. "Sorry."
Hicks tossed the Brit his sidearm. "For the time being, welcome to the 1-34. We hope to have a ride out of here sometime before the Second Coming."
In the cab of the truck, Nathan tried again to start the engine. It coughed and whined, sparks flying from underneath the hood making Nathan fear an electrical short. Then the truck roared to life and he said a silent prayer of thanks. Leaning out of the cab he yelled, "Who's ready to go?"
Hicks keyed up his throat mike. "Kelly, Hicks we are moving to you. Command this is Alpha 1-34 reporting imminent mission completion. We are returning heavy one trooper, over."
"Alpha 1-34, Command, has the target been destroyed?"
Hicks climbed into the cab as Nathan held up two fingers, "Command, Alpha 1-34, two minutes."
"Copy, two minutes. Proceed to LZ for extraction."
Cruz and Shipp hopped into the bed of the truck as Nathan backed it out of the garage. They hung on as he dropped it in gear and tore down the narrow street. Behind them a curtain of smoke fell over the growing number of shambling souls wailing for their blood. Ahead, another curtain rolled back on more of the damned and the soon-to-be trying to escape.
Nathan swerved around wrecked vehicles and scurrying people; the chaos of it all seeming to collapse around them in a cacophony of misery and fear. Behind him he heard Cruz and Shipp firing their weapons at infected, trying to give the fleeing people a chance at survival if but for a few more moments. Beside him, Hicks reloaded his rifle. Another hard turn and they could see the bridge.
"Kelly, Hicks, we're on final." Hicks picked up his rifle and leaned out of the window. He took aim, picking off the infected ahead of them on the bridge.
Climbing down from his position, Kelly put a hand to his throat. "I've got visual. Christ, where did Nathan get that piece of junk?"
Nathan crossed the bridge bringing the truck to a stop next to a ladder on the side of the store. Kelly appeared a few seconds later, sliding to the ground and leaping into the bed with Cruz and Shipp. Reaching into his pocket Nathan pulled out a detonator and tossed it to Hicks, "Your turn, Sarge."
"God, I'm gonna need a tetanus booster just sitting in this thing." Kelly complained.
Nathan climbed out of his window, sitting on the sill. "Don't knock her, she's a classic."
"Stow it, both of you," Hicks warned, pressing the lever on the detonator. Three blocks away, the bridge shattered in a cloud of pulverized stone and infected bodies. Hicks tossed the detonator back to Nathan. "Let's go."
They drove several more blocks before coming to a crowded square held by the local military. There they left the truck and climbed into a waiting Blackhawk that lifted off as soon as they were aboard.
Shipp returned Hicks' pistol. "Thanks again, mate," he said.
Hicks holstered the piece and shook Shipp's hand. "Don't mention it."
Two jets streaking past caught their attention. The fast-movers passed over the slums breaking formation. An instant later, the poverty and disease-stricken neighborhoods vanished in two massive balls of flame. The Blackhawk bucked against the shockwave. In the hold, the soldiers watched the familiar sight with tired resignation. With the virus winning the slums, the Moroccan military had opted for a clean sweep; a thermo-baric bomb designed to set fire to the air and flatten everything within its reach. In the waning light of day, the ordinance reduced the slums to rubble and incinerated everything in them.
