HVZA (Book 3): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse [Project Decimation] Read online

  Just as the tips of the teeth met his skin, a distant shot rang out. A hole suddenly appeared in the zombie’s left temple. Dark blood and greenish ZIPs fluid gushed out into Max’s face. Choking on all the nasty bodily fluids that had poured into his open mouth, Max sat bolt upright, gagging and spitting out the foul substances. Then he looked around to see who had fired the shot, but the rest of the team was just entering the woods, and no one had their guns drawn.

  “I’m telling you, someone shot him!” Max exclaimed in his 20-cups-of-coffee hyper-agitated state.

  “You’re crazy!” the Ranger shouted much too loudly. “We’re all crazy from these damned firecrackers. None of us took a shot, and the boat is too far south.”

  “I’m telling you, someone took a shot!” Max insisted, but was way too amped up to stand around and argue about it.

  Ignoring Max as best he could, the Ranger got on the radio to let the boat know that they were almost in position by the river. Only the railroad tracks, a thin line of trees, and a footpath remained before the final ten yards of trees and rocks on the bank of the river, and from what they could see, their path looked relatively clear. However, the boat informed him that heaps of debris from the collapse of the George Washington foot bridge had spread out like a tsunami in all directions and the entire length of the riverbank on the Manhattan side was littered with tree limbs, screen doors, Badminton rackets, plastic shopping carts, torn clothing, and futons, all caked in a putrid-smelling mud, mixed with chunks of burned and decayed flesh. It would be tricky footing, and completely disgusting, but it would be the last few yards before they were free of this hellish island.

  The train tracks had just a few stragglers, and no one needed to draw blood. The footpath was similarly no problem. As the team entered the last strip of woods going down to the water, they all began to breathe easier and relax—or as close to relaxed as they could get while still jacked up on The Monk’s firecrackers.

  The roar of the Defender drawing closer was also a comforting sound, and Becks was finally allowing herself to make that little mental check mark that this part of the mission, at least, was a success. This had been much more of a strain than she would allow herself to admit—her first time “back out there” since her ordeal in New Jersey, and more zombie kills than she could count. As relieved as she was, however, she had no plans of patting herself on the back until the entire mission was complete, and that included the eradication of the hundreds of thousands of zombies who had escaped Manhattan.

  The rain even seemed to be letting up a bit as the bedraggled team members emerged from the tree line. There was a tangled mass at the water’s edge, like a garbage dump had exploded—which in essence, was exactly what happened. Waving enthusiastically to the crew members on the Defender, which was now just about 50 yards off, Cam took the first tenuous steps onto the debris. The first couple of yards required a delicate balancing act, but then he seemed to find firm footing on a mattress stained brown, green, and red.

  “I don’t even want to know where this thing has been,” Cam said laughing, as he bounced up and down like a little kid—an amphetamine-infused little kid, “but it looks like we have a gangplank to freedom.”

  Becks was about to tell him to be careful and stop acting like a dumb ass, but instead she started screaming.

  “Look out! Behind you, Cam!” Becks yelled, as a rotting hand was reaching up over the edge of the filthy mattress.

  Before anyone could react, the hand grasped Cam’s right ankle and yanked him backwards into the water. Becks, the Ranger, Max, and Pete sprang forward to try to rescue him, slipping and falling on the treacherous tangle of debris, which suddenly began writhing and shifting as if it was alive.

  “Zombies!” Julian started screaming in his high-pitched hysteria. “The debris is filled with zombies!”

  Thousands and thousands of zombies had been on the makeshift foot path when the helicopter blew it to bits, and their bodies had been enmeshed with all of the garbage as it rushed out to sea, and also blown backwards to the riverbanks. Arms and legs and heads now rose up out of the muck between couch cushions, branches, and umbrellas. It seemed as if a hundred hands were now grabbing at everyone as they desperately tried to scramble across the pile and get to Cam, who still hadn’t come to the surface. Becks was frantic and slashed her way through the many body parts trying to pull her down, and jabbed relentlessly into the gnashing jaws attempting to eat her. If she was getting bitten, she didn’t feel it, as panic had completely overwhelmed her senses.

  Cam’s head briefly rose above the surface as his bloodied face contorted and gasped for air. The Ranger, with his long reach, almost got a hold of his shoulder, but at the last second he was yanked back down below the murky water. Everyone was yelling, the debris pile was starting to break up in the skirmish, and Max and Pete were now shoulder-deep in garbage, struggling to get free and keep their heads above water. They were both screaming in pain as they were being bitten by the many mouths hidden in the debris, as well as being cut and stabbed by the sharp edges of all that junk.

  The commander of the Defender, a petite, yet rock-hard-bodied Hispanic woman named Tejada, kept her cool and ordered her crew to take a shot only if there was a clear shot to be had—which under the circumstances, was almost impossible. Not knowing what kind of dangerous debris was under the water, she couldn’t risk bringing the boat in too close. However, she was not going to just sit there and watch the entire team die right in front of her, so she ordered the grappling hook launcher to be aimed toward the line of debris just to the south of the team.

  Julian and Martha finally joined in the melee, and thanks to the continued benefits of pharmaceutical courage, they managed to pull Pete free of the debris, but it looked like he was bleeding in a dozen different places. Max was stuck fast, and he was howling as a set of teeth had clamped onto his thigh. Martha recklessly drew her pistol and aimed it somewhere in the vicinity of Max’s thigh/crotch and prepared to fire.

  “Whoa, whoa, WHOA!” Max shrieked, grabbing Martha’s wildly trembling hand and shoving the barrel of the gun onto the head of whatever male or female zombie was dining on his leg.

  With the skull of his attacker shattered, Max had a little more wiggle room, but he still couldn’t pull himself free, and continued to struggle to keep from being pulled below the water level.

  Becks and the Ranger both dove into the water to help Cam, but there was zero visibility. Flailing around searching for him, she found a man struggling a few feet down. Feeling along his torso, she found his head and thrust her arm securely around his neck. Becks’ lungs were burning for oxygen as she planted her feet against a rock or tree trunk and used her legs to propel the two of them to the surface.

  Her relief at breaking above the water and gulping in a deep breath was short lived, however, as she realized she was holding onto the slimy, rotting zombie who had pulled Cam into the water. He was way too big for her to handle—and too slippery—and he quickly was able to flip her over and push her back under the water, all the while as his jaws snapped at her. She fought with all her strength to hold him back, but he was standing on debris with his head out of the water, while her face was a foot below, and lack of breath was quickly weakening her.

  Just as things started to go black, a spurt of a lumpy red substance hit the water just above Becks’ eyes, and the zombie’s grip went limp. Bursting to the surface, Becks gasped for air, as her attacker, who was now oozing blood and brains from a sizable hole and his forehead, fell with a mighty splash.

  “Nice shot,” Tejada shouted to her crew, and was then puzzled when they responded that no one had fired.

  A hand grabbed Becks by the collar from behind and she started fighting until she heard Julian yelling that it was just him.

  “Cam, where’s Cam?” Becks shouted in between gagging and coughing, as she was rapidly losing hope

  “He’s okay! The Ranger has him,” Julian yelled back over all the noise and chaos.
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  He pointed toward the boat, and Becks saw the Ranger pulling Cam toward the Defender, but he looked anything but okay, although at least he appeared to be conscious. Every fiber of her being wanted to go to Cam and help him, but as another mud-caked zombie was slithering out between a bookcase and a large advertising sign for “Express Lube,” Becks had to take care of herself and the others first.

  Pete was stretched out on his back across half of a dining room table, panting and clearly dazed. Max was stuck in the debris just a foot away from being completely submerged. Julian and Martha tried to help, but they could barely stay on their feet. Everyone had several hands and mouths threatening them from all over the garbage pile.

  Becks heard the commander yelling for her to swim clear of the debris and head for the boat. She was about to protest, to say the others needed her help, when she saw that the boat was starting to nudge forward and put tension on a rope that appeared to be attached to the debris pile. Assessing the situation, she swam as fast as she could. A few seconds later, she heard an ungodly groaning and snapping sound, but didn’t stop to look back.

  With the deep, throaty roar of the Defender’s two, 225-horsepower engines, the boat lurched forward, the grappling hook sunk deep into the heart of the pile, and the rope strained, but did not break. Suddenly, with a deafening crack, the tight mass of debris once again exploded into thousands of pieces of wood, metal, plastic, and flesh. Like tumbling dominoes, the four remaining team members were thrown into the water, churning head over heel and bumping and crashing into lawn furniture, picnic baskets, and zombies.

  Julian grabbed onto Max, who was finally free, but it wasn’t entirely clear who was helping who as they tried to swim toward the boat. Pete and Martha were both floundering. Pete, because he was so wounded, and Martha, not only because she had no idea how to swim, but she had never been in any water deeper than a bathtub, let alone a bathtub full of undead people trying to bite her.

  The Ranger, who had gotten Cam onboard the boat, was about to dive back in after the others, but Tejada told him to stay, as he was too badly banged up. She pointed to two crew members, who each grabbed a life jacket and dove into the garbage-filled water. Within moments, both expert rescue swimmers had Pete and Martha in the life jackets and on their way back to the boat. After getting them safely onboard, both crewmen went back for Julian and Max.

  Every muscle in Becks’ body ached and burned, and in the last ten feet to the boat she felt as though she was never so completely exhausted in her life. Only after she had been yanked aboard like a rag doll with one hand by the Ranger, did Becks also realize she had half a dozen wounds, as well. She couldn’t tell if they were bites or cuts from the debris, but it didn’t matter, in this cesspool of rotten flesh they would all have to be treated for infections—both for ZIPs and the more prosaic, but no less deadly, varieties of bacteria.

  Despite their injuries and fatigue, once on the boat, Becks and Julian began attending to everybody’s wounds. Julian actually surprised Becks with his skill and efficiency, and for the first time since she met him, he didn’t look scared. Damn, he was a doctor, and a good one!

  Martha had bumps and bruises, and a few scrapes, but nothing serious. Pete was bitten and cut all over his body, but nothing life-threatening. However, given all he had been through the last few days, and his lack of sleep, he was in no condition to go on to Albany. That was a huge loss for the mission, especially given his knowledge of Project Decimation.

  Max’s right thigh was severely bitten, and it looked like his left ankle was broken. He would also be unable to continue to Albany.

  Then there was Cam. Sweet, brave, ever-resourceful, handsome Cam, who now looked like a drowned rat; a rat who had been chewed up and spit out of a garbage disposal unit. Fortunately, the Defender had brought a supply of blood, and Becks worked feverishly to temporarily seal the major wounds so that the transfused blood didn’t spill right back out. A medical team would be waiting at the dock at West Point to do the real work of patching him up. It was Becks’ job to make sure Cam stayed alive until then.

  “Are we good to go?” Tejada asked, after she gave the doctors a few minutes to assess their patients’ conditions.

  Just as Becks was about to say they could take off, and as fast as possible, Max pushed Julian aside and shouted, “No! Someone else is still out there! Someone is onshore, shooting, and he saved my life.”

  The Ranger started to disagree again, but Tejada interrupted and said that her crew had said the same thing. Someone on shore had shot the zombie that had attacked Cam and Becks.

  “Get some eyes over there,” Tejada shouted, as a couple of crew members grabbed large binoculars.

  Only a few moments passed when one of the crewmen—a young man who looked like he should be in high school—yelled, “I got something! Over there, in a tree.”

  He pointed to a lone tree on shore to their south; a tree surrounded by hundreds of zombies.

  “Can you see him?” Tejada asked.

  “Uhhh … It’s not a him, Ma’am,” he replied, as a deep crimson blush transformed his pale skin into mottled blotches of embarrassment.

  “A woman? Are you sure?” Tejada asked, grabbing the binoculars from the other crew member.

  “As sure as I can be, Ma’am,” he replied. “She’s waving a pink bra in one hand, and her red shirt in the other.”

  Tejada focused in on the topless woman, who was sitting on a branch of a short maple tree. She had a rifle over one shoulder, and less than a yard beneath her feet were dozens of filthy, decaying hands reaching up, straining to grab her.

  “Bring us around and prepare to fire. And get the grappling hook ready again,” Tejada ordered.

  Becks wanted to grab the wheel and head north at all possible speed, as every minute counted for Cam’s life. However, this woman had saved her life, and Max’s too, and they just couldn’t leave her to die on Manhattan.

  Max crawled to the side of the boat and asked for a pair of binoculars. With the ship speeding and bouncing around, it took some effort, but he finally managed to zero in on the woman in the tree.

  “Son…of…a…bitch!” Max shouted, laughing, and then added with admiration and something suspiciously like affection. “It’s Margo! She is too pig-headed to die!”

  Pete and Martha were delighted by the news, and Max reminded the others that Margo had covered their retreat after they launched Pete on the raft, and that they thought she had been killed. Max never liked Margo before. In fact, they did nothing but argue, if they spoke at all. However, now two things worked in her favor in Max’s eyes—she had saved his life, and she didn’t look half bad without a shirt. Even in the zombie apocalypse, men still succumbed to the timeless spell of breasts.

  The river was filled with the debris and bodies released by the grappling hook, which made maneuvering a bit tricky, but much of it just bounced off the gray, foam collar that surrounded the C-class Defender’s hull. Becks was too busy working on Cam to notice the grappling hook’s second successful attempt to free up the shoreline, so Margo could make it into the water—once the herd was cleared, somehow.

  As busy as she was, stitching and gluing Cam back together (using some of Sticky Pete’s special blend), Becks did wonder why the boat then turned to face the shore, which provided lousy angles to fire the two M240B machine guns on the port and starboard sides. What she hadn’t noticed—and what was now music to her ears—was that there was an M2HB mounted near the bow. It was a .50 caliber beauty that was currently turning the herd beneath Margo’s feet into a field of zombie hamburger meat. Becks missed her beloved .50 cal and she had to restrain herself from knocking aside the gunner and taking over!

  It was dangerous business firing such a weapon so close to Margo, but they were all out of time and options, so the risk had to be taken. When the .50 cal went silent, Tejada got on the megaphone and told Margo to climb down and get to the river, which was more easily said than done, considering all the time she h
ad spent up in a tree without food, with only rainwater to drink, and practically no sleep.

  Tossing the bra and slipping the T-shirt back over her head, Margo slowly and carefully lowered herself to the ground. Her legs were so shaky she immediately fell into the mass of chewed up zombies, but struggled back to her feet and cautiously stepped on and over more pieces of meat, bones, and organs than she had even encountered on pig-slaughtering days. To Becks, it seemed like it took forever for Margo to finally reach the water, where the two rescue swimmers were waiting for her.

  No one was more surprised than Margo, when Max crawled over to her and gave her a big hug—in her wet T-shirt. Julian immediately focused his attention on her, starting an IV and injecting any number of things. Fortunately, she had no serious wounds, but the physical, mental, and emotional stress of the last couple of days had left her in a seriously compromised condition.

  “We’ll take care of you, Margo,” Max cooed, holding the bewildered woman’s hand. “Don’t you worry, I’m here for you.”

  The ride up the Hudson was a blur, literally and figuratively. The rain had intensified again, and at high speed it was like racing through solid sheets of water. Becks was trying to concentrate, and not think back to the desperate boat trip from Bannerman’s Island to the Hudson-Athens lighthouse the day that Cam had been shot and needed life-saving surgery, but the smell of his blood kept bringing it all back to her. How much terror and heartache could they all keep taking?

  After Julian had gotten Margo as stabilized as possible on a boat racing and bouncing up the river, he joined Becks in trying to staunch the flow of blood from Cam’s numerous wounds. He spent a few moments with a puzzled expression digging around in a gash in Cam’s back.

  “Well, this certainly wasn’t helping!” Julian exclaimed as he extracted a human incisor from the jagged wound. “I keep telling the zombies to brush their teeth or they’ll lose them.”