Empire's End

Thirty-Two / You Just Can’t Win

“No plane’s going to land in this shit,” Gillies muttered, frowning through the window of the Hummer. Beside him, Gregory was silent.

Someone emerged from the storm, rapping on Gregory’s door. He pushed it open. “Call for the Senator!” the man said, forcing a radio into the bodyguard’s hand.

He passed it to Gillies, who grumbled, “Thrill me.”

“Senator, this is a message on behalf of Major Briggs. Rotters have breached the outer Wall. They’re all over the dead zone outside Gaylen.”

“Where’s Briggs? Why isn’t he telling me this?”

“He’s on his way to the front, sir.”

“Jesus.” Gillies lowered the radio and tapped his driver on the shoulder. “Get out there and have them close all the gates. I want you posted out there. Tell the other Senators I want their men out there too! Shoot anything that comes near us.”

“Me too?” Gregory asked. Dammit. I should be out with the troops.

“No, you stay put.” Gillies rubbed his eyes with a groan. “I have a headache.”

“Want me to go fetch you an aspirin?”

“Don’t give me any shit, Ian. You’ve already let me down tonight.”

Gillies’ door was yanked open. Senator Cullen stood in the snow. “What the hell are we gonna do, Sam, just sit here and wait for them to surround us?”

“We’ll be fine,” Gillies sighed. “The entire army’s out there. What you should be worrying about is that plane turning back in this weather.”

“Do you think that’ll happen?”

“I don’t know. I’m staying regardless.”

Cullen frowned. “Do what you want,” Gillies said, and slammed the door shut.

The other Army vehicles, Jeeps and Humvees, had pulled up beside Dalton and stopped. A hundred men trained their weapons on the horde in the distance.

“Visibility’s shit,” Briggs said, handing off a pair of binoculars. “All right,” he said into his radio, “we’re going to try and keep them back with small-arms fire. Use your heat scopes. Reinforcements are on the way to help. With any luck we can get the rotters bunched up close together — then we bring out the heavy artillery,”

Silhouettes, barely visible through the storm, were peppered with gunfire. They couldn’t see well enough to cripple the rotters; they were wasting ammo. “Let ‘em come closer! Put ‘em down!” Briggs yelled into his radio.

The shadow figures were scattered sparsely across the dead zone. Dalton knew immediately that something was wrong. He’d seen far, far more than this at the Wall. Where were they? Hanging back, wary of the gunfire? Or plotting?

Rotters plotting? Undead with a strategy?

The silhouettes weren’t coming closer. They were spreading further out and fading into the storm.

“Heat scopes aren’t doing any good!” a captain shouted. Briggs, standing in the front of his Jeep, clenched his fists and sat down. “All right, roll out! Let’s find the sons of bitches!”

“They’re behind us!”

Cries erupted throughout the ranks as a surge of undead came from the back, flying out of the white winds and landing on the troops. Sheer panic overtook the men. Briggs could only watch in terrible wonder as the dead claimed their swift and brutal victory.

Voorhees was lying, bound, on the floor of Tripper’s bedroom. Halstead and Lily sat beside him.

“I’m sorry we hurt him,” Halstead was saying. “But you see, he doesn’t understand that we’re the good guys. Tripper and Campbell have taken good care of you, haven’t they?”

Lily nodded slowly. “But why would good guys hurt a policeman?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Voorhees muttered. “You can preach to me all you want, Halstead, but you’re not going to sway a child with your bullshit logic.”

“You just… if you’d only met Thackeray.” Halstead sighed. “He’s the architect. He’s the revolutionary. He sent us here with a plan, and no, it’s not to burn the Great Cities to the ground. This is about liberating this country from the undead. It’s about not giving up, not living in denial. And I know you understand that logic.”

Voorhees rolled onto his back, staring at nothing, and spoke not a word.

He had to get Halstead out of here and be alone with the girl. Halstead wasn’t stupid, though. She wouldn’t give Voorhees the opportunity to talk Lily into untying his wrists.

But he didn’t need that kind of time. He needed only a few seconds — enough time for Lily to help him loose his widowmaker from the sheath beneath his shirt…

Cam poked her head into the room. “It’s almost dawn.”

“Happy Halloween,” Halstead said.

Eviscerato led his minions over Gaylen’s city wall. The few soldiers posted there were slaughtered before they could even reach their radios.

It had taken only a few hours to make it from the outer Wall. The pack had suffered minimal casualties. And even now, some of the dead soldiers they’d left in their wake were rising to join them.

The King of the Dead paid no mind to the solitary Jeep that sped past him into the city. Gaylen was asleep. They didn’t stand a chance.

“I see the plane,” one of Gillies’ men cried, pointing east. “Look!”

Gillies ran from the Hummer and across the airfield, his heart pounding. The plane was still coming, even through the storm! The British had come through! There was a God.

“Will they land?” Senator Cullen cried.

“Of course they will!” Gillies practically screamed. “Light the torches! Guide them in!”

The plane streaked over the airfield and began a sloping turn. Men thrust flames into the air and waved desperately at it.

The plane was coming in. Cheers broke out among the Senators and their entourages.

Gillies clapped his hands and, turning to see Ian Gregory standing behind him, said, “Is your faith still waning, my friend?”

“I can’t do this,” Gregory said.

“What?”

“I can’t get on that plane. I belong back there with the troops. I’m not abandoning all these people. The woman I loved,” he said softly, “she died here.” He glanced away from the runway, toward the gates. “She died.” And he began to walk away.

“Ian! Ian!”

To hell with him then. Gillies watched the plane touch down. He jogged back to the Hummer and retrieved his briefcase. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long to negotiate his way on board. Maybe he’d just tell them that the rotters had breached the Wall and that all was lost. The truth wouldn’t hurt for once.

The plane taxied toward the fleet of parked cars and came to a stop, engines whining. Stairs descended as the side hatch opened.

“All right!” Gillies snapped. “Let me talk to them. Just let me do all the talking.”

He started up the stairs, calming himself as he did and putting on a formal air. One last diplomatic dance. He’d have to hit every mark perfectly this time.

As he stepped onto the plane, he was assaulted by a four odor that made him gag: confined, concentrated putrescence, the stench of death. It smelled like they’d come straight from the battlefield. Didn’t anyone observe basic hygiene anymore?

The cockpit was sealed. Parting a damp curtain, he stepped into the passenger cabin.

Every seat was occupied. That was a—

They were all undead

Gillies staggered back, tearing down the curtain as he fell to the floor. “My — my God! Christ Jesus! Oh no! Oh, no!”

The cockpit opened. Two uniformed zombies shuffled out, starving hunger in their eyes.

So, the war in Britain had been won, after all.

“Oh no,” Gillies stammered. He tried to get up. The pilots’ hands came down on his shoulders. Passengers were rising from their seats, hands outstretched, eager for the taste of American flesh.:Oh no,” the Senator wept. “No, no, NO!”

They fell upon him. “Nooooooooooooooo!” he wailed, choked with sobs, and then with the blood welling in his throat. “NOOOOOOOOOOOO! Nooooooo…”

While the pilots licked his bones clean, the rest of the British began to deplane.