“Here at the center of the base things are quite calm and peaceful. It’s why the labs are near the center. I can go whole days without seeing anyone else.”
St. George frowned. “Days?”
The doctor shrugged. “I keep to myself,” he said. He mopped his face with a handkerchief. “Are you sure Doctor Morris will be at her workshop?”
“Unless they found her she should be there with the armor prepped. Figure maybe another forty or forty-five to get her into it. And then we’ll be ready to deal with Peasy or whatever he’s calling himself now.”
I think it’s too late for that, said Zzzap. He pointed a gleaming arm at the ground below them. You see what I see?
At the far end of Dust, a stream of ex-soldiers staggered out of the last Tomb on the left, a few dozen of them so far. They shuffled and spread out like a stain on the base. The sound of chattering teeth vibrated up through the air.
“Crap,” said St. George. “Think you can handle all of them?”
If you don’t mind this part of the base being annihilated in the process, sure.
The hero sighed and swung over to the nearest rooftop. “Doctor, do you mind if I leave you here for a few minutes? You should be safe.”
Sorensen nodded. “I understand. I’ll be fine.”
The two heroes zipped through the air and St. George dropped into the midst of the zombies near the open door of the Tomb. He grabbed a dead woman by the arm and swung her in a wide circle, knocking down a dozen of them. Another swing cleared a path to the door and left him holding an arm and most of a shoulder.
He tossed the limb away and an ex came through the opening at him. He shoved it back inside, knocking down a handful of bodies behind it. With the other hand he grabbed the huge door and dragged it shut. Inside, dead things clawed at his knuckles and broke their teeth on his fingers.
Once it was closed, he gave it a hard tug and yanked the oversized guide wheels off their track. Just to be safe, he stomped down on the track and twisted his heel. It wrecked his boot, but the door wouldn’t open again without a few hours of work from a repair crew.
The light shifted and a hiss of superheated air came from behind him. Zzzap vaporized a baker’s dozen of exes, and another handful that had been near the blast charred and crumbled into ash. Ah, hell, said Zzzap. Radio ga-ga. They had Danielle and Stealth, but they both escaped a couple of minutes ago. There’s already soldiers inside the workshop and Freedom’s sending a squad to reinforce them.
“Damn it.” St. George crushed a dead man’s skull and brought his fist around to shatter another one. He grabbed them by their jackets and threw them over his shoulder.
Good news is it sounds like most everyone’s still looking for you. They don’t even know I’m out yet. Bad news is it seems like no one’s noticed the exes going nuts.
“Can you let them know?”
It’ll be pretty obvious I’m not locked up anymore.
St. George twisted the head of one ex-soldier and grabbed another while it dropped. “Do it.”
Zzzap floated higher in the air and focused on the signals swarming around him. Done. And they all just went very quiet.
The other hero tossed a few more exes into the rough pile he’d made. “If they know you’re out,” he said, “they know we can hear anything they say.” He threw one last ex-soldier. “I think that’s all of them. You want to torch these?”
The wraith nodded and held out his hands. The shadows leaped away for a moment and the score of zombies were dust. Whoa , he said. That took a lot out of me.
“You okay?”
Yeah. Just haven’t eaten anything in a day or so.
“What?” St. George shot a glance at Sorensen on the nearby rooftop. “Do you need to get away?”
I’ll be okay.
“You sure?”
I’ll be okay, he repeated. He nodded his head at one of the other Tombs. Next building’s empty. So’s the one across the street.
“Damn it,” said St. George. “He’s making his move.”
They soared back up to Doctor Sorensen and St. George carried him down to ground level. Sorensen glanced around. The window panes were trembling. “Is that artillery?”
Half a block down, the Cerberus battlesuit smashed through the doors of the workshop, twisting the steel slats around itself like paper. St. George yanked Sorensen back and shielded the older man from the shards of metal scattering everywhere.
Once the suit was in the clear it broke into a run. Its armored feet left gouges in the concrete road where they hit. A few moments later it was at the end of the street and racing away.
“Was that Danielle?”
I don’t know who’s inside, but it isn’t her. Zzzap tilted his head after the battlesuit. Heck, was that even our giant robot? It looked different to me.
* * *
Sixty exes shambled across the base in what passed for tight formation. The lieutenant at the front of the line, a thin man with sunglasses and his cap pulled low, gestured them along and they followed. A few of the soldiers walking by on their own duties noticed the dead men, but the Nest had made them almost commonplace.
The lieutenant led them up to Barracks Eight. It was closest to the fence line, and the soldiers living there had earned the nickname “Gatekeepers.” A few yards from the door he waved to the specialist on fire patrol. “Cleaning lady’s here,” joked the lieutenant.
Specialist Gorman looked at the approaching mob of exes and shuddered even as he saluted. “Good afternoon, sir,” he said. “May I ask what’s going on?”
The lieutenant had turned back to the ex-soldiers as he covered the last few feet, waving them onward. It struck Gorman he’d never seen anyone guide the exes with gestures before, and he wondered if it was something new the doctor had figured out. Then the officer was in front of him and the exes were at the door.
“I told you,” said the dead man in the lieutenant’s jacket. “I’m here to clean the place out.”
This close Gorman could see the chalk eyes behind the sunglasses. The ex slapped a leathery hand across his mouth even as two or three others pinned his arms and took away his weapons. They carried him through the doors without breaking stride, an actual wave of the dead.
The exes marched into Barracks Eight. Thirty of them marched up the four-story stairwell and split off ten-man groups at each level. The first door to the left on each floor was a small armory where the Gatekeepers kept rifles, sidearms, and ammunition. The exes stomped into each one, grabbed the soldier on duty, and chewed out his throat. On the fourth floor, Corporal Hesh got off one shot which was muffled by the walls and the press of bodies. Only Specialist Douglas on the second floor managed a scream, but it was over as quick as the gunshot.
If anyone heard the scream, they didn’t react.
The others stayed on the ground floor, and half a dozen of those ate Specialist Gorman. The dead lieutenant kept his hand over the soldier’s mouth and muffled his screams for the two minutes it took him to die. They left enough of his body to be useful when it got up and grabbed his baffled partner as she stepped out of the bathroom. The dead lieutenant sank his fingers into her upper lip and held her jaw shut with the heel of his hand. He glared at the auburn hair poking out from under her duty cap.
“Fucking redheads,” he muttered as the exes tore open her stomach. “All you bitches are gonna die.”
According to the mailboxes in the lobby, Barracks Eight housed one hundred-ninety-nine soldiers. At least half of them should be sleeping until night duties began. The ten exes on the fourth floor split into two groups of three and one of four. They opened the first three doors after the armory and stalked in to grab the off-duty soldiers.