Chapter Four: Trouble on the Rails
Music: Undead by Hollywood Undead
Mercy City, suburb of Chicago
Oct. 26th 0234 Hours 02:34 AM local
Lawing lightly squeezed the trigger, and his M-21 jumped in his hands, driving upward and into his shoulder. Far away, a sprinting male infected clad in overalls and a ball cap fell to the pavement, half of his skull obliterated. Lawing released a breath and drew another in as he aimed at another infected, a fat aristocrat. He squeezed the trigger, and a round shot towards the fat man in a business suit missing a sleeve. The rifle round blew his brains, icor, and skull, as well as the spent bullet, into the short teacher-like infected behind him, snapping her already broken arm clean off. The woman ignored the wound and continued her furious dash toward the tram station.
Lawing worked left to right; sighting, breathing, and firing, scoring hit after hit on the infected. He sighted on a construction worker wearing a protective hard hat, and lowered his aim accordingly. The round punched through the man's jugular, and carried on to blast the skull of a second infected apart as well. He thought two for one. He squeezed off the last round in his magazine and pressed the release button above the trigger guard. The empty magazine fell out of the well and he grabbed the empty container and stashed it into a pouch at his thigh. Just under said pouch, he rooted around inside to find a full magazine. He slid the full mag home with practiced and almost mechanical efficiency, racked the bolt back, then returned his eye to the ACOG sight. With a calm and emotionless look on his face, Lawing continued to fire at the infected, scoring hits repeatedly and killing one or more zombies with each shot. Elsewhere, the other survivors were slaughtering their undead enemies with extreme prejudice. Some more than others...
Curtis cackled madly as his SAW spat death at the infected. He swiveled the weapon on a short wall that was outside the entrance, the attached tripod deployed to steady his aim. He locked on to a swarm of zombies and shot a burst of fire toward them.
In the M-240 user manual, it is made extremely clear that one shoot in bursts. Sustained fire causes the barrels on these beautiful machines of death to overheat and eventually melt. To combat this unfortunate mishap, instructors taught that the SAW should have a catch phrase: something the gunner can say to himself to time each burst correctly. So as to make their intent clear, the instructors had created the phrase, Die, Motherfucker, DIE, to follow the burst rule. And it was this phrase that Curtis howled at his vict- err, enemies.
"Die, Mother fuckers, DIE!" He yelled maniacally, and the accompanying burst of fire cut off any chance of response that the infected could give. Not that they could speak anyway.
"Die Mother fuckers, DIE!" Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!
An audible click signaled the end of his ammunition belt, and Curtis let the stock fall to brace against his gut as he reached for another belt of ammo. The barrel of the SAW started to glow a reddish hew as he flipped up the top and loaded the full belt into the weapon, tossing the empty one to the side. He would reload it later, when there was extra time, but not now; it was a distraction and in the way. He slammed the top down and racked the bolt with a satisfying clack, then continued to fire. The fresh rounds welcomed the next crowd to approach him with biting pain and instant oblivion.
He sighted a short woman in a dress and fired, the rounds punching neat holes into her abdomen. Shrieking, she curled up and fell to the ground. He swung the weapon at another infected, firing as he did so. The arc of fire cut into more infected as the weapon aligned with its next target: a large body builder clad only in tight-fitting jogging pants. Bite marks adorned his arms, neck, and body, still oozing large quantities of blood. Curtis fired another burst, and a tracer round hit the buff zombie first. The hot round smoldered and burned the flesh in his stomach, causing him to fall into the ground with blood coming up out of his mouth. With a strangled gurgle, he slumped into the gutter. And still, more came behind him.
Tex sighted an infected with her P-90 and squeezed the trigger, and the short weapon spat death at the skinny male infected twenty feet from her. The 9mm rounds ripped into him with the intense effect of hollow point ammunition, creating bigger holes in his vulnerable flesh. She swept her weapon to the right, firing into a old lady infected still clutching a purse. The old crone's chest caved in by the force of the round tearing chunks of meat through her and into a lamp post behind her.
Curtis swung his weapon to the right and fired into a knot of close-knit infected in prisoner garb. Chains connected them together as they all tried to reach the others, but their singular efforts only stalled the group as a whole, tripping each other up and pulling each other down.. His rounds cut through one and continued through the others, killing most and wounding others as the bullet finally lodged into the remnants of a body lying by a storefront twenty yards from the gang. He laughed as he swung the weapon back to the left, the stuttering fire cutting into more infected. He noted with small concern that the last several shots went wide, meaning that he was firing in longer bursts and causing the barrel to overheat. An easy remedy, Curtis thought to himself as he reached behind him for his canteen. With a flourish, the warrant officer untwisted the cap and splashed some water onto the red-hot barrel of the SAW, sending hot steam up into the air. The barrel hissed as it cooled back to a black color, and he continued to fire.
Lawing ejected another spent magazine and slotted a fresh one in, racking the bolt afterwards. He fired again into the now thin horde, splitting a head open and watching the bullet ricochet into a infected's leg and causing him to stumble. He fired at the downed zombie and took the infected's eye out with the precision of a trained marksman. Lawing's mind drifted back a memory of marksmanship training.
Lawing sighted the paper target and squeezed the trigger. The large M-16 slammed into his shoulder. He flipped the safety on as he ejected the half-used clip from the weapon and moved upright, still on his knees. He looked down range at the targets and smiled. The majority of his shots had hit center mass, except for the few he aimed at the head. He walked down the range after the all clear was called and looked at his shots.
The majority, as he thought, were center mass. One of the head shot ones was odd. He laughed; it was dead center of the eye. He picked up the target and folded it up, then put it into a breast pocket. Satisfied, he smiled at others around him, all sighing at their targets. None had come close to his accuracy.
Lawing snapped out of the past as he heard a gurgle sound as a straggler came to the party. The infected was extremely fat, his shirt ridding up as he stomach bulged. Dirty black hair hid his left eye from Lawing's view, while the right was swollen shut by the close proximity of a hideous boil on his face. Similar boils and warts seemed to cover the portly man, and Lawing almost gagged at the appearance. It was such an ugly creature; it just had to die. He looked through the ACOG scope and squeezed the trigger. The round hit the infected at the center of his large stomach with a splash of a mysterious green-brown liquid. The fat man curled up slightly into a ball, and then exploded. Blood and guts rained down onto the corpses of infected, some bits even landing on the still madly cackling warrant officer. Lawing flinched at the explosion's wet plopping sound.
Curtis was looking at the mass of corpses when the fat man came into view. He laughed again. His SAW was cooling off, but he knew Lawing had the fat bastard marked and targeted. Sure enough, he chuckled as the fat man exploded, raining guts down on him as well as the corpses. The wet plopping sound was odd, he thought to himself as he brushed off the pieces of meat and fat that had landed on him. After the fat man had successfully covered the battle, Curtis scanned the area for any surviving zombies. No corpse met his gaze, or at least, none that walked. He walked out of cover and towards the exploded fat man.
Tex was watching the street as she saw Curtis move towards the fat man. He stood over the grimy stump as she heard another sound. She swung her P-90 towards it, but lowered it upon seeing Jenkins and Lawing walking towards her. She sighed in relief as they waved. She walked a little farther ahead, and they joined Curtis at the corpse. Lawing stared intently at the corpse, as did Jenkins and Curtis.
"Any ideas on what this thing is?" Lawing asked curiously, and he nudged the undead's foot with his own.
"No clue, sir. My guess, it's some sort of mutation." Jenkins said lazily, before digging into his pocket.
"You're the science officer here; explain the explosion." Curtis said indignantly, as he brushed off a few more chunks of dead fat guy. Jenkins pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter, and soon had one lit and clamped between his lips. The sergeant took two long drags, then breathed out a long stream of smoke. He sniffed the air quietly, then snorted.
"Judging by the smells, I'd say methane and sulfur, and maybe nitrogen." He said wearily, then took another long drag.
"A walking bomb." Curtis summed it up nicely. He sidestepped away from the sergeant, eyeing the lit cigarette. "You sure you should be smoking with that thing there?"
"The reaction has already happened. The remaining gases are too diluted to set off another explosion." Jenkins said reassuringly. Curtis still kept his distance.
"What caused it?" Lawing asked sharply. He knelt and stuck his finger in the center of the gel-like mass, coming away with more of the green-brown bile.
"Infection might have messed with the body's digestive system, causing the production of this crap." Jenkins said slowly. He seemed to enjoy the attention.
Lawing rubbed the goo between his fingers, then wiped it on the trousers of a dead old man lying nearby.
"This goo is just like the stuff we found on those infected back in the alley." Lawing said, "so this wasn't just a fluke."
"So this thing, or one like it killed those infected with what?" Curtis pondered out loud.
"Vomiting maybe, or leaving a trail that's toxic to the virus, maybe. Not enough data to be sure." Jenkins whispered around his dying cigarette. "The goo is probably the liquid version of what ever made him swell like a balloon, and is probably flammable as hell." As he said this, he took the cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ashes from the end. The group's eyes followed the ashes as they landed in the goo. A small spark ignited, then extinguished itself. Theory proven.
"So the goo is burnable as fuel?" Curtis again.
"That's what I just said." Jenkins replied sardonically, scooping some into a old bottle.
"We could use that for fuel if we find a Humvee. Or as a Molotov Cocktail if we need one."
"We need to get on the move. There are a few hours before sunrise and we need to reload and clean our weapons." Lawing said loudly.
"That store room had a lot of ammo in it, we can use that." Curtis said cheerily. He pointed back toward the station with his thumb, and the others nodded in agreement.
"Let's go." Lawing said, walking back towards the station.
The group moved back inside and down the hallway and into the store room.
"Check your clips and reload the spent ones. Tex, that's double for you. We can switch clips if we have to, but you only have a few of those."
"Alright, Lieutenant." Tex said stoically as she removed the spent clips and started reloading them.
Lawing sat down and grabbed his M-21 clips and laid them down and started cleaning them. He removed the 7.62MM rounds and started cleaning inside the clips. He worked some oil into the spring as well. He reloaded the rounds and grabbed a box out of his vest, opening it and putting the rounds into the 20 round magazine. He finished and put them back into the vest and threw the box into a nearby garbage can. He put the M-21 in front of him and started taking it apart. He removed the barrel and started using a cleaning rod moving it up and down the barrel removing gunk and old powder that had accumulated their.
He put the barrel back and started working on the action. Removing more gunk and putting oil back onto the parts. He finished and re assembled the weapon and set it aside grabbing his M-4 and removing the clip, repeating the process that he did for his M-21 and finishing it with a flourish of racking the bolt. He reloaded the magazines with practiced ease. When that was done he returned them to his vest and pockets.
Lawing pulled out his Remington 470 and started working on. Checking the shells and shining the wooden for grip. He returned it back to his back and slung his M-21 next to it as well. He stood and looked at the rest of the group most where finished except for Curtis how was lovingly working on his SAW.
"Everyone ammo count. Tex, tell us how much ammo you have for what weapon." Lawing ordered.
"150 rounds for my P-90, Riot Shield, and that's it." Tex spouted off.
"450 rounds for my M-4, 234 rounds MP-5, and crowbar." Jenkins.
"550 rounds M-4, 5 rockets RPG." Yakob.
"350 rounds M-4, 34 Shells, 108 rounds M-9s, and 300 rounds for my SAW." Curtis mumbled distractedly. He rubbed the M-240 lovingly and started talking to it again. The others ignored his antics.
"480 rounds M-4, 200 rounds M-21, 17 shells, 45 rounds M-9. Good, we have enough for a while. Conserve ammo where you can and grab any you find. We are going to need it. And Curtis is the only one keeping the SAW; we don't need anymore." Lawing said. The others nodded, Jenkins albeit grudgingly as he set the light machine gun down. Almost as one, they stood up and exited the room.
The platform had a few dead on it from Jenkins' SAW. They hopped down onto the rails and started walking south, towards the base. Walking along the outer rail, Lawing's head was on a swivel, looking for any infected that might try and hop the fence.
"So... what are going to call that fat guy we saw if there are any more of them?" Jenkins asked, trying to make conversation.
"Fat men?" Curtis offered. Before anyone else could reply, Tex slapped him over the head.
"Doesn't fit. Boomers?" Lawing threw out. The others weighed it, and there were mixed results all around.
"Wrong name, sounds too weird." Tex said looking bored.
"It's better than exploder." Curtis said cheekily, earning himself another slap.
"So Boomer it is, then?" Lawing asked, and he got nods all around.
"I guess so." Jenkins said lazily, before lighting another cigarette.
The group walked that last few meters in peace until they reached the next station. Lawing hauled himself over the top of the wall. The wall was close to the station and separated the street from the rails instead of a fence. He fell onto the street and waited for the rest of the group. They fell one by one onto the street and they continued towards the base. Lawing checked his map under a street light and checked the time.
"We've got two hours until sunrise and we're three blocks from the base." Lawing said as he put his map up.
The road was clear of infected, though bodies littered it. Corpses of all shapes and sizes lay in the street, some of them bloating from decomposition, while others had been scavenged by either wild animals or infected. A few laid in cars and looked like they had died there trying to drive. A chain link fence separated two roads through a intersection. Lawing walked up to it and produced his wire cutters and cut the fence lose at one corner. Rats scurried away as they walked past full trashcans. They turned a corner and saw the library in the distance.
They crossed the distance quickly; no infected tried to greet them as they crossed the last road and moved towards the base. The library was fortified with steel welded windows and the doors where open, which didn't look fortified at all. All appearances of docile abandonment flew out the window, almost literally, as a bullet nearly split Curtis' dome. The group scattered and found cover behind whatever they could: buildings, cars, etc. Jenkins dove behind a mailbox and yanked his radio out of his vest.
"Sniper, this is Staff Sergeant Jenkins! You are firing on non-infected humans! Cease firing immediately, over!" he yelled into the radio's mouthpiece.
"Staff Sergeant, repeat last transmission." A cool voice came through the radio.
"We are not infected. Over." Jenkins replied.
"State your Identification. Over."
"Roger that, this is Assassin 1 Actual. Over."
"Roger that. Proceed through the doors."
Lawing stood up slowly, wary of any double cross as the group proceeded towards the door with great caution. The doors where open but the hallway was blocked by a barricade, manned by two .50 cal machineguns and their gunners. Each one had his gasmask on and was keeping his gun aimed at the group.
Jenkins broke the silence first. "It's good to see you guys."
The gunner on the left replied uneasily. "Yeah, it is. Come on through."
The group went past the guards and into the main part of the library. They quickly discovered why the library had been chosen. Shelf after shelf had been raided of books, and each one had been committed to a fire or other means of use. Along with the plentiful tinder, nearly every door in the building was solid oak and easily defendable. People where milling about and looking at the group as they walked. The library had been turned into a makeshift barracks, as people slept on racks, the floor and even on overturned cases. Several soldiers looked at them with contempt. A few officers nodded to Tex, who nodded back.
A man with short red hair was walking around taking notes. He checked his list, then walked over to a man with short brown hair and an orange skull cap as well as a large set of radio equipment. The two exchanged words for a minute, then separated just as quickly. The man walked towards the group and asked them a question.
"You the guys we just let in?"
"Yes, my name is Lieutenant Lawing. We need to see who ever is in charge here, Private."
"Yes sir, and it's Simmons, sir." he replied.
Simmons led them to a staircase and motioned for them to follow. They ascended the stairs and walked along a walkway towards an office. Simmons knocked and waited.
"Enter." came a gruff reply. It sounded Texan, an apparently whoever had spoken hadn't suffered from the same accent decline as Tex had.
Simmons opened the door to reveal a man looking over papers on his desk. The tight, cluttered office was relatively bright, though its only source of light was a lying candle near the edge of his desk. A shotgun lay next to the man's papers. The Major had light gray hair, grey eyes, and his sleeves rolled up.
"Sir, these soldiers are not infected, and they want to talk to you." Simmons said stiffly.
"Let them in." he said, looking up.
Lawing entered first, then everyone else did.
"You can drop your pots." he said as he sat down in his chair.
Everyone removed their helmets and held them as they waited for the Major to speak. The minutes passed slowly the Major looking over the maps and papers on his desk, slowly fingering the shotgun. Lawing decided to break the silence by saying something.
"Sir, my name is Lieutenant Lawing, 131st Infantry. Are there any orders on the net?"
"No new ones, but there is a high priority mission. A scientist is missing and we need to find him. According to command, he has a sample of a cure for the virus. I've sent several squads after him already, but none have returned. Since you have been out there, I can only assume that you will have better luck." The Major said gruffly.
Lawing pondered for a second, then nodded resolutely.
"Consider it done, sir."