The next sounds carried down by the river were multiple whooshing sounds followed by explosions.
“Shit!” said Eason, “I think they just took out the Washington’s Crossing Bridge.”
“Lot of good that will do," said Fennel, "Those things must have been getting across the bridges all night.”
"More helicopters," Eason pointed down river. Ten Black Hawks approached the point and then slowed to a hover over Point Park. The park held the half buried ruins of the city’s namesake, Fort Pitt. The fort had once dominated the entire Ohio Valley to the Mississippi. Today, the fort had a front row seat to the end of the world.
Three of the Black Hawks broke off from the rest and turned to the football stadium. One by one, they landed in the middle of the field. Troops disembarked wearing bio-chemical gear.
An hour later, Eason found himself facing a crowd of panicked civilians. People rushed to the stadium in droves. In the first half hour, they jammed the early morning streets of the North Side. While zombies had been dispersing into the North Side of the city for hours, encountering one was still random. The police tried to keep the traffic moving but the increasing attacks brought movement to a stop.
Eason had seen the same thing happen in Oakland across the river. You had people sitting in bumper to bumper traffic when one of those creatures meanders over and tries getting inside a vehicle to get at someone. He thought about what that would be like to view that from the driver’s seat of the car behind the one being attacked. Eason pictured being stuck with no room to drive anywhere. “Option A,” you hang tight and pray some one will show up and help the situation. “Option B,” you run like hell, Eason thought.
The crowd running to the stadium from everywhere was option B. Eason’s job was to sort out the wounded for the military and send them to the other stadium across the parking lot. He was told to tell people the military had medical attention for them there.
The football stadium had fairly solid iron gates crested with the football team’s logo. The police had closed all the gates but one in each section, so they could properly inspect people as they made their way to safety.
The military had landed and taken charge of the situation. Three soldiers stood behind Eason and another police officer. The soldiers held their guns at the ready. A number of people were yelling at him and the soldiers.
“C’mon those fucking things are everywhere, let us in!” someone shouted.
“You get in once it's your turn,” one of the other police officer shouted.
Across the parking lot at the baseball park came rapid popping of gunfire. The crowd in front of Eason became silent, but the air carried a chorus of distant screams.
He turned away from the crowd and reached for his radio. Over his shoulder he looked at the soldiers with their weapons pointed in the crowd’s direction. Eason locked eyes with one of the soldier's through his bio-chemical suit.
The soldier adjusted his trigger finger closer to the guard of the weapon and shook his head, "No," ever so slightly.
Call it in and die, Eason thought. He dropped his hand away from the radio. The soldier nodded for Eason to step back away from the checkpoint.
"Going to need a word with you officer," the soldier said.
The soldier led him back into the stadium out of hearing range of anyone else. "Am I going to have a problem with you?" the soldier said.
"You’re shooting the injured over there, aren't you?" Eason said.
"It comes right from the top, Sir, nothing to be done about it,” the soldier replied. “If someone is injured, we separate and dispatch the threat. They were supposed to hold off on the dirty work over there for another half hour, but sometimes shit doesn't work out the way you plan."
"If you shoot me the crowd will see it, and believe me they are going to panic," Eason replied.
"Be cool," the soldier said. "Perhaps we both get to see tomorrow."
The back of the crowd in front of the gate let out a cry as people pressed up against the line to the stadium. The dead had followed the fleeing people into the parking lot. The gate where Eason was working stood as a cul-du-sac with all but one of the gates open. People rushed to get into the stadium only to find themselves pressed into a death trap. As the crowd pushed in, their own efforts forced the outward open gate closed.
Eason watched helpless while dozens of people were trampled and crushed by the weight of the stampede.
The zombies closed the distance and found the back of the crowd. A sniper on one of the stadium ramps opened up on the undead but hit civilians as a by-product of every shot.
The undead mixed into the crowd as they attacked.
A squad of soldiers ran up from around the river-side of the stadium but stopped short of the refugees. They formed a skirmish line facing the stadium and brought their guns up.
The soldier with Eason grabbed him by the arm. "Get out of the gate area. If they have to open fire, we’re going to be right in the kill zone," the soldier said.
They ran for cover as the squad outside opened up on anything that ran at them.
Hours later, Eason leaned against a structural pier near the gate he had tried to evacuate civilians through. He reached into his pocket and found a cellophane wrapped package of cigarettes; he pulled one out and lit it. He inhaled deeply and held his breath for several seconds before exhaling.
In front of him, hundreds of the undead clawed and banged at the metal gates of the stadium.
“You know,” Fennel said, “We’re going to die here like the British.”
“I rather not have a history lesson just now,” Eason said.
Fennel ignored Eason’s comment. “General Braddock was sent up here to take the French Fort Duquesne. It sat right where Fort Pitt was constructed. The Indians ambushed the British up river from here and routed them. They brought back the British captives, but the French wouldn’t let the Indians kill them inside the fort. Instead, the Indians crossed over to this side of the river and butchered the prisoners pretty much here. Go figure we would build a football stadium over it, and even have a “Red Zone” where all the people were killed.”
“Did we finish the count?” Eason said.
“Yeah, we managed to pack in about 14,000 terrified pork-chops into this slaughter house,” Fennel said. “Most of them are in the stands. How’s it looking outside?”
Eason nodded at the gate, “Too many hungry customers. The good news is that military landed some people across the river downtown and they have been doing alright. On the other hand, the South Side got over run, and the dead are raising hell up in Mount Washington and Mount Oliver. The North Side is wasted. They intermixed with some of your more unlucky pork-chops outside. It was mid-evil out there. We would have been better off with swords and axes.”
Eason took another hit of his cigarette and flicked the ash. “Look at them,” Eason said. “They are climbing over each other to get through those gates at us. Sooner or later, they’re going to either form a ramp of bodies over the barricade, or the gates are going to give out from the weight of that mess. You can already see the gate bouncing a little. We were shooting them at first, but you have to get real close not to hit the metal mesh of the gate. Plus, an unmoving body just gives them something to stand on. There were dozens then, now look at it, must be hundreds of them out there.”
“You should see the river side gate,” Fennel said. “There must be a thousand of them. By the way, the military scrapped the evacuation plans.”
“What the hell are they thinking?” Eason said. “Are they going to just let them overrun us?”