The Dead Series (Book 1): Tell Me When I'm Dead (41 page)

Several times they were almost discovered. Before reaching the base, a firefight broke out with a group of nailheads. Warnick’s men were out patrolling the area. They killed off the nailheads and rescued the two women and, of course, Greta.

Vinh had shown me how to do my own physical therapy for my leg. The exercises were painful, but I wanted so much to get back to the fight, I did them every day. One day as I stretched, Holly came into the office we had converted to sleeping quarters. She was excited.

“We think we know where Griffin is,” she said.

“Where?”

“The high school.”

“But there’s no one in that place except draggers.”

“That’s what we thought. Some of the men were out patrolling this morning, and they found a nailhead in an alley. He’d been bitten, and I guess his friends left him there to die.”

“They didn’t shoot him?”

“He didn’t even have a weapon. When the soldiers found him, he was nearly gone. He told them that Ormand was at the high school. They were protecting civilians. The men asked about Griffin, and he said that she was alive.”

I was happy to learn about Griffin, but I was worried too. Ormand’s whole approach had been cold and calculating. He wanted to win, and he was willing to sacrifice anything—and anyone. I asked Warnick to call a meeting.

Holly and I met with Warnick and Estrada in a conference room.

“Ormand’s not protecting those civilians,” I said. “He’s using them as human shields.”

“How do you know?” Estrada said.

“Because it’s all he’s got left.” Then to Warnick, “Look, his plan all along was to show that while some of you guys freaked out—”

“Dave,” Holly said.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Estrada, “but you know what I’m saying.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I get it.”

“He wanted to show that, in all this craziness, he and his group were the sane ones, the ones who cared. And the deaths of some soldiers were necessary to save Tres Marias.”

“Right,” Warnick said. “That means he’s keeping the civilians—and Griffin—very close. If we attack and some are killed, he can say it was our fault, not his.”

“I don’t understand,” Holly said. “So we don’t attack?”

“Do we know how many men are defending the high school?” Warnick said.

“I’m guessing not more than a hundred,” Estrada said. “We’ve pretty much decimated them.”

“They haven’t patrolled in a long time,” Warnick said. “I think they already know we’re coming.”

“So what do we do?” I said.

“We don’t keep them waiting. How’s your leg?”

We had no choice but to use force. We knew that Ormand would never come out into the open. We also knew that Griffin and the other civilians were as good as dead if we waited. Their only chance was for us to storm the place.

Though my leg hurt, I made sure everyone knew I was ready to be a part of this. The plan was to leave a small group of soldiers at Arkon while we deployed everyone else to the high school. We had more weapons and vehicles and would make an impressive showing—impressive enough that many of the nailheads might choose to surrender rather than to fight.

Though Holly wanted to go, both Warnick and Estrada forbade it. She had become a valuable asset to Black Dragon, and they didn’t want to lose her. To soothe Holly’s ego, Warnick put her in charge of the troops in the building. She would see to it that the civilians were protected—especially Nina and her baby. And she wouldn’t be alone. Many of them were strong enough to help defend the building.

Since my rescue, Holly had given me strong signals she wanted to be alone with me. On the afternoon before we were to deploy, she sent Greta out, closed the door to our room and drew the shades. I could think of a more romantic setting than an insurance office, but we were so hot for each other, it didn’t matter. We almost got away with it, but Greta began whining and scratching at the door. And she wouldn’t stop.

“Greta!” Holly said.

The dog persisted. Groaning, Holly let her in. Once she was satisfied that we were both safe, she curled up in a corner and closed her eyes. The passion sidetracked for a moment, Holly and I held each other.

“What am I going to do with you?” she said, stroking my hair and beard.

“Stay with me.”

“I think that’s doable.”

I tried kissing her, but she pressed her fingers to my lips.

“Do you ever think about her?”

“I think about everything I lost. Especially your love.”

“You have it,” she said, and kissed me deeply. “Always.”

Morning came too soon. Holly and I had slept in each other’s arms. It wasn’t light yet when Estrada rapped on the door.

“Let’s move out, Pulaski.”

“Be right there,” I said.

As I sat up, Holly tried pulling me back to her, and I took her hands in mine.

“I’ll be back soon,” I said.

“Are you taking Greta?” she said.

“She’s needed here.”

The dog whined softly and licked my hand. I didn’t want to prolong this, so I helped Holly to her feet, hugged her deeply and kissed her.

“I want to show you something,” I said.

I pulled open my shirt, revealing the gold crucifix she’d given me in Mt. Shasta. She smiled as she adjusted the gold chain around my neck.

“You’re a pretty awesome guy,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Come back to me, okay?”

When I opened the door, Estrada and Warnick were waiting.

It was still dark when we moved out. There were 150 of us. We split up into four convoys, each of which came at the high school from a different direction. I rode with Warnick, Estrada and Springer, who wore a bandage around his neck.

“I never told you how glad I was you made it back,” I said to him.

“Appreciate it, man.”

“Things better with Holly?” Warnick said.

“Oh yeah.”

We met no resistance as we neared the high school. The sun was coming up, and we saw the deserted parking lot. A few draggers wandered from one end to the other, searching for live food. We wondered where all the nailheads’ vehicles had gone and decided that they had hidden them so as not to attract attention.

Warnick used binoculars to check out the second-story windows. At first there was no one. Then the shooting began, and it was on.

My orders were to stay close to Warnick and Springer no matter what. We didn’t know if Griffin was on the second floor and couldn’t chance launching grenades, so instead we used riot guns to shoot tear-gas canisters in to clear the floor, hoping that whoever was up there would come out and surrender. More soldiers poured into the parking lot to clear out the draggers.

As we moved in, the shooting intensified. We still didn’t know how many nailheads we were fighting, but those who were there were heavily armed. Warnick kept screaming orders, but I couldn’t hear him, so I stayed close.

We made our way to the gymnasium, thinking there might be civilians inside. Someone forced open the heavy, metal double doors. It was dark inside, and the stench was revolting. A sea of dark shapes floated towards us. For a second I thought we’d saved these people.

Then I saw them.

The gym was filled with draggers, as Landry predicted. Amid death shrieks and demons running towards us, we laid into them with automatic fire from our AR-15s. They went down, but more kept coming. Then other soldiers appeared with grenade launchers and fired into the gym. Explosions went off everywhere, blowing draggers into pieces. Finally, we were able to shut the doors again and secure them with chains. Desperate grey hands reached through the opening as we backed away.

“These men can finish securing the area,” Warnick said to Springer and me. “Let’s find Griffin.”

Soldiers had breached all the buildings and brought out nailheads who appeared weak and defeated. A few young women came out with them, lifting their arms with joy at seeing the soldiers. One held the hand of a boy who looked to be around six. Griffin was not among them.

I was surprised that it took less than an hour to secure the high school. These people were hungry, sick and scared. They wanted it to be over.

Our platoon searched every building, every maintenance shed, hoping to find Griffin, Travis or Ormand. As we made our way outside, a woman cried out. Warnick signaled for Springer and me to proceed while he jogged off in the opposite direction.

As we rounded a corner, we saw Travis dragging Griffin by the hair towards the auto shop. When she fell to the ground he kicked her repeatedly, but she wouldn’t get up. Springer and I moved out into the open, training our weapons on him.

“Travis!” I said.

Griffin looked back. “Dave!”

Travis stopped and faced us, pointing his rifle at the girl’s head. “How many times we gotta go through this?”

A rapid stuttering of gunfire tore through the air, and Travis’s diseased forearm blew apart, the skeletal hand still gripping the rifle. Wailing, he fell to his knees as Griffin scrambled away and ran to me.

Warnick walked up behind Travis, training his AR-15 on the nailhead. “Where’s Ormand, Travis?”

Travis snorted, clutching what was left of his arm. “What? You gonna kill me? I’m already dead.”

“Let’s get him out of here,” Warnick said.

Griffin grabbed my handgun, marched up to her stepfather and pointed it at his face. When Warnick tried to intervene, she turned the gun on him, her eyes hot with anger and hatred.