Part 28 (1/2)

”There's too many of them!” Naomi shrieked, the sound perfectly matching the skidding of the motorcycle's tires.

They came to rest just short of the treeline, the Buell's engine purring between their legs. Steve's eyes narrowed as he scanned the outer wall. It wasn't the zombies that bothered him. The lab's main gate was blocked. A Humvee had collided with the burned-out hulk of what looked like a semi's tractor. The trailer must have continued forward, turning over as it slammed into the two vehicles. Bright, icelike pools shone where fire had melted parts of the aluminum walks. Can't get in that way. Can't get in that way. Steve glanced over his shoulder at Naomi. ”Time to use the service entrance.” Steve glanced over his shoulder at Naomi. ”Time to use the service entrance.”

The neuroscientist actually c.o.c.ked her head. ”There is is one?” one?”

Steve couldn't help but chuckle. For someone so smart, Naomi sure could be dumb. Steve licked his finger and placed it dramatically in the wind. ”Let's find out.”

The lab was completely surrounded. He'd expected that. There had to be, what, a few hundred shuffling and groping at each side of the hexagonal perimeter.

”I can't see another gate!” Naomi shouted over the bike's roar.

”We're not looking for one!” Steve shouted back.

There! A spot where the living dead had crowded against the wall. Maybe there had been something on the other side: a living survivor, a wounded animal, who knew, who cared. Whatever it was had been tasty enough to entice enough Stinkers to crush some of their buddies against the naked cinderblocks. The pressure had created a solid ma.s.s of compressed necrotic flesh, its shallow angle allowing the still-mobile Stinkers to literally walk up it and over the wall. A spot where the living dead had crowded against the wall. Maybe there had been something on the other side: a living survivor, a wounded animal, who knew, who cared. Whatever it was had been tasty enough to entice enough Stinkers to crush some of their buddies against the naked cinderblocks. The pressure had created a solid ma.s.s of compressed necrotic flesh, its shallow angle allowing the still-mobile Stinkers to literally walk up it and over the wall.

The ”ramping” must have happened at least a few hours ago. The original prey had long since been devoured. Only a few ghouls now stumbled or crawled over the undead ramp. Some of its parts still moved: a waving arm or a clicking jaw. Steve could have cared less about them; it was the mobile ones still slouching over them he worried about. Just a few Just a few. He nodded imperceptibly. No problem. No problem.

Naomi didn't react when Steve aimed the bike's nose at the ramp. Only when he gunned the engine, did she look straight ahead to his target.

”Are you-” she began.

”Only way in.”

”That's crazy!” crazy!” she screamed, loosening her grip on his waist as if to leap off the Buell. she screamed, loosening her grip on his waist as if to leap off the Buell.

Steve's left hand instinctively shot out, holding her wrist and pulling it to him. Looking back at her terrified gaze, he flashed his signature grin. ”Trust me.”

Wide-eyed and chalk pale, Naomi could only nod and hug him with all her might. Steve turned back to the ramp, continuing to grin. Okay, Gunny Toombs, this one's for you! Okay, Gunny Toombs, this one's for you!

The Buell took off like a rifle bullet, Hansen leaning into the howling wind. Five hundred yards... four hundred... three.... Some of the zombies near the ramp began to notice them, turning and stumbling towards the oncoming crotch rocket. Two hundred yards... one hundred... and now they were ma.s.sing, grouping into a small, but tight swarm blocking the ramp. Without flinching, Steve swung the M4 out of its worn leather scabbard and with eyes still fixed firmly ahead he bit down hard on the weapon's charging handle. It was a move he'd only tried once before, that night his Harrier had crashed outside Fallujah. The impact had broken one arm and both legs, but not his warrior's spirit. He'd tried using his teeth to c.o.c.k the automatic carbine. It'd worked then, and d.a.m.n if it worked now. The first round clicked rea.s.suringly into the chamber.

No time to aim. He'd have to shoot from the hip. Crack! Crack! The closest one's left eye disappeared, a reddish brown cloud exploding out the back of its head. Steve might have commented on his marksmans.h.i.+p, if only there was time. The closest one's left eye disappeared, a reddish brown cloud exploding out the back of its head. Steve might have commented on his marksmans.h.i.+p, if only there was time. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Two more went down, falling like puppets with their strings cut. This time he smiled. Two more went down, falling like puppets with their strings cut. This time he smiled. Still got it. Still got it.

The path began to open, but at the blinding speed they were traveling, would it open fast enough? ”Oh my G.o.d!” Naomi screamed.

With barely half a dozen bike lengths to go before they hit the ramp, Steve squeezed the M4's trigger, spraying a fully automatic burst of copper-coated tickets to h.e.l.l. Kiss Satan for me, Kiss Satan for me, Steve thought. Steve thought. Or my ex-wife, whichever you see first. Or my ex-wife, whichever you see first.

The carbine clicked on empty just as the last zombie fell, and with a soft crunch and a bang, one hundred and forty six horses thundered onto the ramp. With the Buell's wheels tearing up its putrid surface as they went, Steve and Naomi catapulted clear over the fence.

”OOOH-RAHH!” Steve shouted, and for just a split second, he was back in the c.o.c.kpit, shrieking over the Iraqi desert, showering fire and death in a star spangled storm. Unlike the AV-8 jump jet, however, this machine couldn't be steered once airborne. Steve shouted, and for just a split second, he was back in the c.o.c.kpit, shrieking over the Iraqi desert, showering fire and death in a star spangled storm. Unlike the AV-8 jump jet, however, this machine couldn't be steered once airborne.

The Buell's front tire smashed into the parking lot asphalt and skidded on a puddle of human remains. The impact catapulted both from the custom leather saddle. Steve tucked, rolled, and slammed against the tire of a smashed Prius. The hybrid's driver, armless, faceless, stared down at him from the open driver's door. Too bad the ”save the Earth” car couldn't do the same for its owner, Too bad the ”save the Earth” car couldn't do the same for its owner, he thought. he thought.

Steve sprang to his feet. He could see Naomi lying several yards away. She was face down, unmoving. s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t. The bike lay in the exact opposite direction. No way to tell if either of them was alive. The bike lay in the exact opposite direction. No way to tell if either of them was alive.

The moans and stench hit him like a one-two punch. He whirled just in time to see the first of the zombie horde begin to slouch towards them. Where the h.e.l.l was the M4? He'd felt it slip from his grasp as they hit, heard it skitter across the hard surface. It must have gone under a car, but which one? There must have been several hundred vehicles still in the parking lot, which also meant that there must be several hundred undead former owners still on the grounds. No time to worry about that now, and no time to start looking for the weapon. The ghouls, about twenty of them now, advanced slowly towards Naomi's motionless body.

Steve's hand first went for the 9mm in his jacket. No. No. He stopped himself. If the M4 was damaged or lost, his Glock would be their only ballistic weapon. He stopped himself. If the M4 was damaged or lost, his Glock would be their only ballistic weapon. Plus, Plus, he thought, he thought, his finger's closing on familiar sharkskin hilt behind his back, his finger's closing on familiar sharkskin hilt behind his back, it just wouldn't be fair to Musas.h.i.+. it just wouldn't be fair to Musas.h.i.+.

SSCHHIING! The ninjat's twenty-three-inch blade glinted in the noonday sun, as bright and clear as the day Sensei Yamamoto had presented it to him in Okinawa. ”Its name is Musas.h.i.+,” the old man had explained. ”The Warrior Spirit. Once drawn, its thirst must be slaked with blood.” Well, he thought, let's hope that syrupy c.r.a.p those Stinkers have in their veins counts.

A zombie loomed in the blade's reflection. Steve spun, catching it cleanly under the neck. Bone and muscle separated like ice under flame as the still snapping head rolled harmlessly under a torched minivan.

Ground and center.

Another zombie reached out to grab Steve's collar. He ducked under its right arm and came up behind its back. Another head went rolling.

Breathe and strike.

A third took Musas.h.i.+'s blade right through its left eye.

Dodge and swing.

A fourth lost the top of its head. Steve now stood only a few paces from Naomi.

Ground and center!

A fifth Stinker found its skull cleaved right down the middle.

”Steve...” Naomi looked up, voice weak, eyes unfocused. She was alive.

”I got ya, babe.” Steve yanked her to her feet, simultaneously slamming Musas.h.i.+'s blade through the ear of a ghoul slouching between them. He thought about trying to find the M4, but there just wasn't enough time. Plenty more where we're going. Plenty more where we're going.

”C'mon!” Steve pulled her through an encroaching swarm and together they ran to the overturned Buell. When he felt the engine roar beneath him-Made in the USA!-he wasn't surprised. Another roar could also be heard, dull and faint and growing with each pa.s.sing second. Steve tilted his head to the smoke filled sky. There it was: their ride out of here, a small black speck set against the crimson sun.

”You call a cab?” Steve said, smiling at Naomi. For just the briefest of moments, the beautiful egghead smiled back.

They were only a hundred yards from the lab's open double doors. No problem there. Four flights of stairs. Steve patted the motorcycle. Again, no problem. ”We just gotta get to the heliport on the...” Steve trailed off. His eyes locked on someone-no, something. A ghoul was shuffling towards them from behind a smashed SUV. It was short and slow, and even on foot, he and Naomi could have left it in their dust. But Steve wasn't planning on leaving. Not just yet. ”Keep the engine running,” he said, and for once Naomi didn't question him.

Even with the rotted skin, the dried blood, the lifeless, milk-white eyes, she'd also recognized Theodor Schlozman. ”Go,” was all she said.

Steve dismounted the bike and walked slowly, almost casually over to the approaching ghoul.

”Hey, Doc,” he said softly, his voice cold as arctic death. ”Still tryin' to save Mother Earth from her spoiled children?”

Schlozman's jaw dropped slowly open. Broken, stained teeth poked through chunks of rotting human flesh. ”Huuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaa,” rasped the former n.o.bel prize winner, his b.l.o.o.d.y hands reaching for Steve's throat.

The Marine let him get almost close enough to touch. ”As you used to say...” he smirked, ”arms are for hugging,” and swinging Musas.h.i.+ like an honor guard rifle he sliced off Schlozman's fingers, then hands, then forearms before leaping into the air and smas.h.i.+ng the Paleoclimatologist's head sideways with a roundhouse kick.

The brain that had once been hailed as ”Evolution's Crowning Achievement” exploded from the shattered skull. Still intact, it went spinning towards the Buell, landing with a wet splat right at the base of the front tire. Touchdown. Touchdown.

The Marine sheathed his a.s.sa.s.sin's short sword and walked slowly back to Naomi.