Part 2 of the undead horror
|Powell had been on the tower for hours since leaving Dante’s Finger, constantly scanning the surrounding waters. There had been no ship traffic, which was a little strange, considering the current situation. As the Claggett turned to line itself with the deep section of the channel, Powell turned to look at the civilian shipyard as it passed by. He scanned the freighters and cargo ships of all size, moored there and the docks; all lit up like a Christmas tree. Something was wrong but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe the sea air had lulled him into a sense of calm or apathy. As he scanned each of the vessels in turn, it dawned on him what it was. No activity on the docks or the ships. He watched the docks intently as they passed by. The screech of tires, glass breaking and gunfire echoed across the water. The deck watch swiveled as one to focus on the civilian dock. They all watched as several people ran from a disabled van along the waterfront, firing at another group that appeared to be chasing them. Powell focused on the pursuing group, shocked to see people with large chunks of flesh missing, some trying to run on legs that had no feet, arms hung slack like dislocated, all looked like rejects from a bad car accident. He watched as several were shot but didn’t drop, just staggered as chunks of meat were blown off them. He panned back to the running group and saw some of the men turn and fire, a couple stop and take careful aim, dropping a few of the chasers with headshots. Finally he was galvanized into action when he panned beyond the running group to see that the dock ended in a high fence topped with razor wire.
“Mr. Ridley. All Stop!”
“Aye sir. All Stop.”
“Get Lt. Willis up here.”
Seemingly seconds later, Willis joined Powell on the tower.
“That group of civvies is fighting off a horde of infected. I want you to get them out of there and extract them to safety.”
Willis was watching the scene unfold as Powell spoke. He saw the infected for the first time and realized what his team was up against.
“Hostile extraction. Sir. My men are ready for this.” Willis voiced his views aloud while he realized that he could use more men.
“I’ll hold position as long as possible, but the current may move us some. Its pretty strong tonight.”
“Aye sir. My teams on it.” Willis handed the binoculars back and popped back down the hatch like a prairie dog. He joined his team on the aft deck as they boarded their boats.
The zodiacs flew across the smooth water as the team raced to the end of the dock. The gunfire had slackened as they drew closer. They could see that the civilians were almost to the fence and that several of them had run out of ammo for their rifles and were using handguns. A few even had tire irons or baseball bats. The SEALs made it to the end of the dock, tied up their boats and started climbing up the pilings. A strange smell, more powerful then the salt air enveloped them as they got to the top of the wharf. Moaning could be heard from above as they climbed up.
Rogers was the first one to the top and directed Doc Johnson to start laying down suppressive fire with his 249. The civilians froze when the 249 started yammering. As the rest of the team got to the top to of the dock, they added their weapons to the firing, effectively pushing back the zombie horde. Some of the undead that Johnson had shot were getting back up. Webb started using his PSG1 rifle, dropping the closest zombies with well-placed headshots. Willis had Hannaberry enlarge the hole in the chain link fence to allow the civilians to pass through quickly. Rogers switched weapons with Johnson so Doc could check out the survivors as they went by. Willis realized what the strange new smell was, decay and rot. Coming from the hostiles they were engaging.
“Aim for the head!” Rogers yelled out over the moans coming from the encroaching mass. Adjusting his aim after seeing several zombies get back up after taking bursts to center mass.
More and more zombies seemed to be coming out of the warehouses, pouring off the tethered ships, moving in on their tenacious position, moaning, screeching and shambling forward. Webb sighted on a zombie moving down the gangplank of a nearby ship, his shot went through the forehead then continued into the side of the head of another, dropping both and blocking the way for others bottled up behind the two. Mildly surprised, he swiveled to find more targets.
“Stand by to peel!” Willis yelled out, firing a single shot into the head of the nearest zombie.
“Grenade!” Rogers yelled, throwing his.
“Last man!” Doc yelled out as he pushed a civilian through the now widened fence hole.
“Peel!” Willis yelled, switching to full auto fire, mowing down several dozen undead.
Rogers started to lay down cover fire from the 249 as everyone else went to full auto fire, cutting huge swaths of the undead down. One by one they fired off a full auto burst, tapped the man next to them, then dove through the hole to the water below.
The two grenadiers popped white phosphorous grenades into the ever-growing horde, throwing an eerie light over the battle before turning and diving into the water. Powell watched from the sub as the white phosphorous grenades popped, colorful white streamers showering down to melt through the concrete and wooden pier, setting fire to several of the infected, who continued moving forward, unaware of the flames licking across their ragged clothes and undead bodies.
“Last man!” Hannaberry yelled out and dove through the hole.
Smith, the team demo expert, scrambled through the hole, stopping momentarily to hang precariously off the side of the wharf. He quickly set up some Claymore mines at the fence breech, connecting a radio trigger to the arming mechanisms.
“Smitty! We are leaving!” Willis yelled up to him, the zodiac bouncing and bobbing among the pilings.
Smith dropped into the water, surfaced and ran his arm through one of the rope handles that ran along the side of the first boat he was next to.
“GO! GO! GO!” he yelled.
The zodiacs swung around and sped out to the waiting submarine. The team held their fire and watched behind them as the zombie horde reached the fence and pushed against it, the fence bowing out as more and more of them pressed against the ones at the front. Smith reached into his tactical vest, removed a small radio transmitter and pushed the button.
A white flash and a series of dull explosions blew the zombies to pieces as the M18A1 claymores detonated. Small chunks of zombie meat was flung in all directions. Several tried to get back up only there were no legs to stand on. Several more were ‘killed’ outright as the 700 ball bearings per antipersonnel mines penetrated their skulls and perforated their undead brains.