Clara hobbled over to the back of the truck. The soldierswere gathered around the vehicle, their faces robbed of their typical soldierstoicism, replaced by slack-jawed awe. A quarter-mile away, they could see theoutline of the Memorial Coliseum. Fences ringed the stadium, pitiful thingsthat looked as if they were hastily thrown up. Scaffolding was thrown up behindthe fences, and between their truck and the fence, an army of the dead milledaround.
The problem was obvious; too many of the dead weremilling around the fence. Hubert was gesturing and pointing at the fence withhis hand, giving the men directions. He turned around and saw them peeking outthe back of truck, and he smiled at them reassuringly.
"This is not good," Clara said. "That'ssupposed to be the refugee camp?"
For once, Joan agreed with her. She brushed a lock ofbrown hair out of her face and said, "We'll be alright," more toallay her own fear than to make Clara feel better. The soldiers finished theirconversation, and they climbed back into the truck. They began peeling the tarpoff the back of the truck, exposing the ribs like the mammoth fossils of a deaddinosaur.
"What's the plan?" Joan asked.
Hubert smiled. "It's simple. We're going to pull upalong the fence, and jump out of the back onto the scaffolding."
"You've got to be kidding me," Clara said.
"Anyone want another cigarette?" he responded.Clara raised her hand, but Joan kept hers down, chewing on her lip.
From the ground, Martinez said, "I'll take one,sir."
Hubert knelt down on one knee, "You're going to besafe in a matter of minutes, Martinez." Blood covered the floor of thetruck, and Martinez' skin had paled considerably. Hubert stuck a cigarette intothe man's mouth, and lit it. Hubert's Zippo did the job of lighting thecigarette, while his sure smile did the job of lighting up Martinez' face.
The men had removed the tarp, and the sun poured down onthem. It had to be two or three in the afternoon, and the sun felt harsh ontheir skin. Joan felt sweat form on her lip. There was a breeze, but it wasn'tenough to quell the heat. Hubert pounded on the cab of the truck and they movedtowards the wall of the dead.
The truck bounced around, the remaining men jostling backand forth in the back of the truck, their rifles held with one hand, whiletheir other hand grasped the exposed ribs of the truck. The noise of themassive diesel engine drew the attention of the throng in front of the Coliseum.It wasn't long before the sound of a hundred dead hands banging on the thicksteel of the truck created a deafening cacophony.
A helicopter joined the fray, steaming out of the north.It tried to thin out the crowd of dead between the truck and the Coliseum,turning the infected into a pulp with guns that were meant to mow through steeland concrete. Head shots were not a sure thing with a helicopter being buffetedby the wind. Gore sprayed everywhere, the helicopter's artillery being a littlebit of overkill for the soft mass of the dead. The soldiers opened fire, andover the noise of the chopper, the crack of rifles, and the hundreds of deadbeating on the truck, no one noticed when the upper half of a torso flew intothe back of the truck. Blown free from its legs by the powerful Gatling gun onthe chopper, the torso landed right on Martinez.
No one heard his screaming, as everyone's attention wasfocused on the wall of the infected that was trying to beat their way into theback of the truck. They were uncoordinated but tenacious. As it inched forwardthrough the crowd, Hubert and his men fired into their mass, missing more oftenthan not due to the jouncing of the truck over bodies. The truck pressedforward, but the bodies were too thick, and as it approached the fence head on,the wall of creatures was pressed inward against the thin mesh wiring. It beganto bow inwards, and the soldiers on top of the scaffold signaled for the truckto back up.
The driver threw it into reverse, and the truck came to ahalt. One of Hubert's men was off balance, and he fell onto the floor of thetruck, where the torso of the dead creature that had thoroughly devoured thethroat of Martinez reached for him, grasping onto his shirt. The soldier stoodup with the dead torso hanging off of him. He clawed at the creature, and thistime Hubert noticed. He signaled the soldier next to him, and Clara and Joanmoved as far away from the struggling soldier as possible.
The truck lurched forward, knocking the soldier with thedead torso off balance. He tumbled to the ground, and blood hit the green metalfloor of the truck. Hubert took aim and shot the torso, and the bitten soldiersat up, touching his face. Blood came away on his hands and he looked at Hubertwith a frightened look on his face, as his own mortality flooded his frontallobe. Hubert pulled his sidearm and put a round through the soldier's head.
From his position on the ground, Hubert didn't seeMartinez' eyes snap open. Clara did. She yelled, "Watch out!" as loudas she could, but over the noise, it was a mere murmur. Martinez managed tostand on his one good leg, and as the truck rolled over more bodies, he losthis balance and fell forward, tackling Hubert to the ground. His sunglassesslid to the tailgate of the giant truck, and when he rolled over on his back,Joan could see the terror in his eyes.
As the truck pulled parallel with the fence, Martineztook a bite out of Hubert's thigh. He screamed in pain, trying to shove him offwith his left hand, while his right hand searched for the pistol that he haddropped when he fell to the ground. The two remaining soldiers had their workcut out for them, trying to keep the dead from climbing aboard.
Hubert found his gun and place it against Martinez'forehead. He pulled the trigger and blood splattered the back wall of thetruck's cab where Joan and Clara were standing. The soldiers on
