Six Feet From Hell (Book 6): End Game Read online

  CHAPTER 2

  April 18, 2022 – 1427 Hours – Tazewell, Virginia

  Joe’s heart pounded. His palms were slick with sweat as he tried to maintain the grip on his tried-and-true suppressed M4. He was frozen in place, his feet anchored to the floor. A single bead of sweat trickled down from his forehead, cascaded onto his nose, and dropped to the floor. The salty sting of the perspiration dropping from his forehead made his vision blurry and burned his eyes. It had started as a comfortably warm day; now it had become exceedingly hot and stuffy, especially indoors.

  He eased to his right and hugged close to the tile wall. In another life, the hallway had been familiar to him, soothing even. He could remember the days of standing in the hallway, the sweet feel of air-conditioned coolness flowing throughout the entire area.

  Joe absently looked around, drawn back in time by his surroundings. Tazewell Community Hospital had seen better days. The fact was not lost on him that he was in the very building where he started. Nearly a decade had passed since his first fateful day in the zombie apocalypse. Looking off to his left, he spotted the area where he had first made David and James get back to work. The two fucktards he had been stuck with had been hitting on a couple of obviously underage girls, and Joe had put a stop to it with extreme haste. It was amazing how he had come full circle with the events that had started an entirely new chapter in his life.

  Joe took his left hand off the rifle and waved the rest of his team forward. Muted footsteps sounded as Boyd and two others advanced forward. The woman, Laura, was the town’s newfound structural engineer – insofar as the wall went. She had worked on heavy equipment for fifteen years before the world went to shit, and was remarkably knowledgeable in engineering. Short on stature, but long on toughness, she made an excellent addition to the team.

  The other addition was another Kentucky transplant named Roman Jackson. Roman was a former SWAT officer that Joe had not had the pleasure of meeting in his previous encounter with Jim O’Malley’s people. Roman had been out on a scouting mission by himself, much to the protest of Jim, and made it back in just enough time to be captured by the handful of Peacemakers that invaded their corner of Kentucky. Roman was only five-foot-nine, but built like a linebacker. The lack of food the Kentuckians had suffered had only burned away fat from Roman’s physique. He now was fully healed and gaining more strength with each passing day, becoming a skilled, lean, very mean, zombie-killing machine.

  And he needed those skills right now.

  “Roman!” Joe hissed. “On me!”

  Roman nodded and stalked forward. Like a soldier on autopilot, he moved with the sleekness of a seasoned SWAT team member. Roman brought up a very beat up but extremely reliable Remington 870MCS shotgun and moved forward. He swept back and forth, checking the adjacent hallways, the flashlight on the end of the shotgun lighting up the way. Stepping to his right, he hugged the wall in front of Joe.

  “Why don’t you let me take point?” Roman asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “This is for them, not us, Roman. We have to teach them to stay on their toes even when they aren’t supposed to be. They have to know every corner could hold something. I know that you’re in charge of this team, but I have to make sure no one gets killed.” Joe felt a bit out of place telling the veteran SWAT officer what to do, but his responsibilities went way beyond training. If one of the team members was bitten or hurt during their training, it would make for a difficult explanation for the rest of the town. It had been difficult enough to get less than ten people to volunteer, and if things went south, it would be damn near impossible to get any more in the future.

  Roman shrugged his shoulders and watched as Laura and Boyd crept forward. Both held their respective rifles up and ready, sweeping back and forth for targets. They stopped short of a cross hallway. Each one paused and then moved to opposite sides, Boyd to the left, Laura to the right.

  “Clear,” Boyd whispered.

  “Clear,” Laura repeated.

  Roman and Joe moved forward, with Roman taking the lead. Joe had to admire the man’s ease and confidence as he stalked forward. As a young kid growing up in a very poor neighborhood, Roman had gotten tough quickly. As imposing of a figure as he was, he still kept his cool. Being a black man in a mostly white area of Kentucky had made his patience infinite and his nerves steel. There was very little that fazed him, and even if it did, it rarely showed.

  Joe’s mind wandered once more. He kept trying to focus himself and keep his wits keen, but his mind wandered constantly anymore. Between training the new folks in town, acclimating and divvying up jobs for those same people, and keeping the general peace amongst the populace, he had plenty on his mind nearly all the time. Sleep was fleeting at best; his body wanted rest at night, but his mind refused to shut down. Virtually every night, he found himself wandering outside his room or volunteering for extra watch shifts to abate the insomnia. By the time he managed to get a few winks in, it would be time for another day to start. He longed for the days of having a routine and being able to keep it, but the day-to-day activities were hectic and unorganized right now.

  “Contact left!” Boyd blurted out. Two shots echoed throughout the building as he fired two 5.56mm rounds.

  Joe stalked forward quickly and moved to his left. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air as he rounded the corner in front of Boyd, rifle raised and ready. A single haggard-looking zombie lay on its back. A green trucker hat adorned its head, two perfect holes in it just above the bill. Oily, black ooze bespattered the glass door behind it – the door somehow still intact. A growing pool of the same thick substance spread under the ghoul.

  Joe hugged the wall to his right, moving towards what was left of the radiology department of the hospital. “Good shot, Boyd. I wonder if the rest of the dead fuckers in here heard that, or do we need to fire off a couple more?”

  “Sorry, Joe. I’m not used to the hand-to-hand stuff. It’s a hell of a lot easier to double-tap these fuckers than go for my knife.”

  “Just stay calm. They don’t move very fast and they’re easy to dodge, even in close quarters. Just don’t panic.”

  Laura moved to the wall opposite Joe. “This is the last room we have to clear, isn’t it?”

  Joe nodded. “Yeah. Captain White and the other group should be done with the Med/Surg rooms by now. That should finish us up.”

  Roman shook a can of white spray paint and made an “X” on the hallway and ER doors. The emergency room had been cleared the day before. Believing it to be the most heavily infested, it was deemed a priority to be cleared out. All in all, thirteen zombies had been dispatched by Captain White’s team. White had been tasked with training a second group of volunteers, mostly made up of Hazard transplants. His team of five had quickly taken care of the room with no casualties. Two-to-one odds had been easily taken care of, but a hundred to one would be a bit more difficult. Nevertheless, the group had performed flawlessly.

  Laura moved forward and grabbed the door handle to radiology. Looking back to Roman, Joe, and Boyd, she nodded. As she tugged on the door, it would not budge. A few more seconds of pulling did not loose it from its lock.

  “Damn. Magnetic lock is still holding. Is there another way around?” Laura asked.

  Joe lowered his rifle. “Yeah, there’s another entrance around the front of the building. I think the other end is secured magnetically as well. Let’s stop for the day and meet up with Captain White and the other team. We can compare notes with White and see –”

  Joe was interrupted by a single shot emanating from outside the hospital. He knew good and well that Captain White wouldn’t risk a single zombie with a gunshot, especially outdoors and outside the wall. Lone walkers could be taken down with much quieter means, especially considering they were outside the walled-in confines of town. The hospital sat on top of the hill overlooking a good-sized part of the walled-in area of Tazewell. Joe deemed the hospital the safest place to train people in the way
s of urban combat, even against the undead.

  Roman spun around and instinctively raised his Remington. “That came from outside. Captain White must have company.”

  Joe trotted forward. “Come on, let’s see what’s up. White wouldn’t risk that much noise for one walker; something else is going on.”

  Joe jogged around the corner and out the side entrance, a double-pane glass door. The entrance had been the primary means of getting into the ER and patient registration. Glass crunched as Joe stepped through the shattered frame of the door. As he exited the building, he saw Captain White with his .45 drawn. The business end of the pistol was pointed at four very pissed off Kentuckians.

  “Shit,” Joe cursed under his breath. He ran forward and kept his rifle at low ready so as not to further anger the crowd.

  “Back off! You people know goddamn good and well that I had to do that! None of you fuckers are vaccinated! Ten fucking years and you still think they won’t turn? What the fuck is wrong with y’all?”

  Joe ran up to the group and stood off to the right of the standoff, keeping a safe distance between White and the angry Kentuckians. As he got to within a few feet, he saw the reason for the melee. A body lay between Captain White and the Kentuckians, a single hole in the back of the head. Joe surmised that one of them had been bit and Captain White – doing what needed to be done – had ended the man’s suffering quickly.

  “Calm down! Calm down! What is the problem here?” Joe demanded.

  “Asshole Marine here just shot Robbie Wilson in the back of the head!” one of the Kentuckians said, not taking his eyes or rifle off Captain White.

  “Was he bit?” Roman asked, trotting up behind Joe.

  “I don’t know! Asshole here shot him before we could look! Robbie got tangled up with one a few minutes ago when we were clearing one of the rooms. We should have at least checked him before we start shooting people in the head!”

  Joe turned to Captain White. “Did you check him?”

  White kept his .45 aimed at the group. “I think it’s fairly fucking obvious that he got bit! Look at his right hand! Goddamn thing looks like it got caught in a blender!”

  Joe knelt and examined the downed man. Captain White was indeed correct. A large chunk of the man’s right hand was gone, bit clean out by one of the undead. As much as he hated to admit it, Captain White was right; there was nothing to be done aside from ease the anger of the Kentuckians.

  Joe stood back up and addressed the group. He put his hand on Captain White’s .45 and lowered it, and then lowered the rifles of the three others, one after another. “Look, there are only a handful of us that are vaccinated, and as much as I would like to get some to you guys, it’s just not happening yet. Curtis and Keith are on top of the East River Mountain right now trying to reestablish contact with some other ZBRA units. If we can, we will get you guys vaccinated; if not, then we have to take care of bites the same way we always have. We’ve already had the interior of the town overrun once; I will not let that happen again. If it seems a little harsh, then suck it up,” Joe said, pacing back and forth. “Each one of you would do the same thing for your family as I do for mine. There’s no sense in putting anyone at risk. Now, if you want, we will get a burial detail to take care of Robbie. If not, then that will be all for the day.”

  The three men mumbled among themselves and then decided it wasn’t worth the risk to try to bury Robbie. His body was moved to a wooded area near the hospital and unceremoniously covered with leaves and branches. It wasn’t much of a burial, but at least he wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.

  After the “burial,” both teams made their way back to the wall. Nothing was said amongst them. Joe wondered what kind of example he was setting by not questioning Captain White’s motives. White had done what needed to be done, and quickly. It tugged at his heart knowing that he should be bothered by the loss of a man, even one he didn’t really know. In the three weeks since the wall had been breached, he hadn’t had much time to acquaint himself with all of the Hazard crew. The few people that he did know were the ones assigned to his team, and they kept to themselves for the most part. Friendships that lasted longer than a month tended to be ones that would last for a few years; the problem was that he hadn’t crossed that threshold just yet. It felt out of place to know as many names as he did, simply referring to most of the men and women as “the new guy/girl.” There were many more introductions to make; he just didn’t have the time to become personally acquainted with everyone.

  It was odd how Joe felt about the crew from Hazard. When he’d first arrived in Tazewell from Camp Dawson, West Virginia, he’d made very little effort to familiarize himself with the town’s residents. Aside from the people he knew already, he’d made very few friends, and most of those were dead now. When the Hazard folks showed up – just in time, too – he felt more obligated to make sure that everyone knew who he was and what he was there to do.

  Joe took it upon himself to divvy up some jobs to his friends and former coworkers. Kody was teaching medical training and basic first aid to about ten others, as well as doing some medical care. Curtis had taken in a former police officer named Keith to help with communications, and Jamie and Cornbread had a group of their own being taught explosives. The rest of the town’s residents – a total of forty-seven souls – helped with the day-to-day activities. There was still food to be gathered, construction (such as it was) to be done, and the general upkeep of town. He’d spent the first six days going building-to-building and house-to-house clearing out the remains of the zombies that had made their way in during the breach. In six days, he’d lost three people, each one bitten and unvaccinated. Unfortunately, there was still only one recourse for zombie bites, at least until he could reestablish contact with another ZBRA unit. His grand scheme involved getting fortified, making contact, and getting the vaccine to the people that needed it. There had already been too many lives lost, too much death in an already dead world.

  Joe trudged on, bothered by the fact that he wasn’t bothered by it all.

  “Balboa to Joe, come in,” Joe’s radio crackled. Joe grabbed the mic and answered.

  “Go ahead, Balboa.”

  “Starting to get some broken traffic on the SINCGARS. I think Curtis and Keith are working on it as we speak. They sound a little excited, though.”

  Joe’s brow furrowed. “I wonder why? Does it sound like they need backup?”

  “I don’t think so. They said something about the tunnel, but I couldn’t make it out. Come on by commo and see if you can hear it better than I can. It’s hard to make out what they’re saying.”

  “Copy. Captain White and I are finishing up from room-clearing training. I’ll stop by in a few.”

  “Copy that. How did it go out there today?”

  “One KIA. Got bit and we put him down,” Joe said very matter-of-factly, like giving a pizza order.

  “Damn. Sorry about that, dude. Come on by when you get a minute,” Balboa answered, his tone noticeably lowered.

  “Will do. Joe out.”

  Much to do and less time to do it in.

  Joe clipped the small radio back on his vest. As a jack-of-all-trades, he was constantly at someone’s beckon call. In the grand scheme of things, it was no different than he’d been all his life. Between answering 911 calls back in the pre-apocalypse days to leading his people to the Gulf of Mexico, or leading a ZBRA unit to rescue others, he was always the one called upon when something needed to be done. He longed for a normal existence, a little time off, maybe even a vacation. Joe remembered back to the last time that he’d had a day off, a vacation to Roanoke Island and Cape Hatteras. He longed for another trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. They were nice this time of year.

  Yeah, that’ll fucking happen, Joe thought.

  CHAPTER 3

  April 18, 2022 – 1440 Hours – Tazewell, Virginia

  The town was coming back together. People were occupied with their individual tasks, inclu
ding Kody, who was beginning to feel like he had drawn the short straw. Being the highest trained medical person originally seemed like a good gig, but now, not so much. Kody had taken upon himself – a little prematurely perhaps – to take care of the tedious duty of solving medical problems. Aside from the usual issues – mostly STDs and malnutrition – there was little he could do. There was no feasible way to reproduce antibiotics, little in the way of treatment plans, and limited resources.

  “Next,” Kody called out, waving his current patient back outside. Everyone in town, regardless of their current medical complaints, was required to be checked for bites and scratches. A repeat of the undead presence in town would be a catastrophe.

  Kody sighed and eyed his next customer – such as it was.

  “You look like your dog just died,” Larry said.

  Kody looked up to his longtime enemy, recently turned friend. Things were still strained between him and Larry, and neither was capable of aptly describing the problem. Ten years ago, Larry had given Kody what he thought was going to be a safe, calm ride home. Amidst the chaos of the first day of the undead, Larry had driven through town like a madman, desperately trying to get Kody home in Thompson Valley. There were unintended consequences of doing such haphazard driving through town, and there were several issues with opportunistic assholes running rampant in Tazewell. Long story short, Larry didn’t make it to Thompson Valley with Kody, nearly wrecking several miles from their destination. Kody had done well with the unfortunate turn of events, and had made it home despite the abysmal situation. It was there he had stayed until recently. Kody had fought the urge to beat the living shit out of Larry before, opting to help Joe out and see if he could let bygones be bygones.

  The jury was still out on that decision.

  Larry sat down on the small cot in front of Kody. In the two weeks since the wall breach, Larry had avoided talking to him. Sitting on the cot, he fully realized what might be coming. Kody had every right to beat the piss out of him, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Instead, he watched as Kody just sat and smiled.