Jason Campagna - White Ash on Bone - A Zombie Novel

He turned away from the crowd and reached for his radio. Over his shoulder he looked at the soldiers with their weapons pointed in the crowd’s direction. Eason locked eyes with one of the soldier's through his bio-chemical suit.

The soldier adjusted his trigger finger closer to the guard of the weapon and shook his head, "No," ever so slightly.

Call it in and die, Eason thought. He dropped his hand away from the radio. The soldier nodded for Eason to step back away from the checkpoint.

"Going to need a word with you officer," the soldier said.

The soldier led him back into the stadium out of hearing range of anyone else. "Am I going to have a problem with you?" the soldier said.

"You’re shooting the injured over there, aren't you?" Eason said.

"It comes right from the top, Sir, nothing to be done about it,” the soldier replied. “If someone is injured, we separate and dispatch the threat. They were supposed to hold off on the dirty work over there for another half hour, but sometimes shit doesn't work out the way you plan."

"If you shoot me the crowd will see it, and believe me they are going to panic," Eason replied.

"Be cool," the soldier said. "Perhaps we both get to see tomorrow."

The back of the crowd in front of the gate let out a cry as people pressed up against the line to the stadium. The dead had followed the fleeing people into the parking lot. The gate where Eason was working stood as a cul-du-sac with all but one of the gates open. People rushed to get into the stadium only to find themselves pressed into a death trap. As the crowd pushed in, their own efforts forced the outward open gate closed.

Eason watched helpless while dozens of people were trampled and crushed by the weight of the stampede.

The zombies closed the distance and found the back of the crowd. A sniper on one of the stadium ramps opened up on the undead but hit civilians as a by-product of every shot.

The undead mixed into the crowd as they attacked.

A squad of soldiers ran up from around the river-side of the stadium but stopped short of the refugees. They formed a skirmish line facing the stadium and brought their guns up.

The soldier with Eason grabbed him by the arm. "Get out of the gate area. If they have to open fire, we’re going to be right in the kill zone," the soldier said.

They ran for cover as the squad outside opened up on anything that ran at them.

Hours later, Eason leaned against a structural pier near the gate he had tried to evacuate civilians through. He reached into his pocket and found a cellophane wrapped package of cigarettes; he pulled one out and lit it. He inhaled deeply and held his breath for several seconds before exhaling.

In front of him, hundreds of the undead clawed and banged at the metal gates of the stadium.

“You know,” Fennel said, “We’re going to die here like the British.”

“I rather not have a history lesson just now,” Eason said.

Fennel ignored Eason’s comment. “General Braddock was sent up here to take the French Fort Duquesne. It sat right where Fort Pitt was constructed. The Indians ambushed the British up river from here and routed them. They brought back the British captives, but the French wouldn’t let the Indians kill them inside the fort. Instead, the Indians crossed over to this side of the river and butchered the prisoners pretty much here. Go figure we would build a football stadium over it, and even have a “Red Zone” where all the people were killed.”

“Did we finish the count?” Eason said.

“Yeah, we managed to pack in about 14,000 terrified pork-chops into this slaughter house,” Fennel said. “Most of them are in the stands. How’s it looking outside?”

Eason nodded at the gate, “Too many hungry customers. The good news is that military landed some people across the river downtown and they have been doing alright. On the other hand, the South Side got over run, and the dead are raising hell up in Mount Washington and Mount Oliver. The North Side is wasted. They intermixed with some of your more unlucky pork-chops outside. It was mid-evil out there. We would have been better off with swords and axes.”

Eason took another hit of his cigarette and flicked the ash. “Look at them,” Eason said. “They are climbing over each other to get through those gates at us. Sooner or later, they’re going to either form a ramp of bodies over the barricade, or the gates are going to give out from the weight of that mess. You can already see the gate bouncing a little. We were shooting them at first, but you have to get real close not to hit the metal mesh of the gate. Plus, an unmoving body just gives them something to stand on. There were dozens then, now look at it, must be hundreds of them out there.”

“You should see the river side gate,” Fennel said. “There must be a thousand of them. By the way, the military scrapped the evacuation plans.”

“What the hell are they thinking?” Eason said. “Are they going to just let them overrun us?”

“They don’t know where to move us,” Fennel said. “From what a Captain told me, this shit is spreading to other cities. Best they can tell is that people who get bitten by those things die after several hours. Sometimes, the victims have the time to drive to other cities before they turn. This morning there are reports of this shit starting in Cleveland, Chicago, Philadelphia, Washington, Buffalo, and New York just to name a few. I’m sure there are plenty of small towns out there too.”

“What about your family?” Eason said.

“My wife and grandchild are in section 213; I don’t know where my daughter is. My wife says she never made it home last night.”

“I hope she’s alright," Eason said. "We’re pretty close in age and I always wanted to ask her out.”

“I’d never let my baby date the likes of you,” Fennel said. “But under the circumstances, I hope you get the chance.” He reached out and offered his hand for Eason to shake.

“I don’t have any family," Eason said, "but I'll stand by yours no matter what happens.”

“I appreciate it,” Fennel said. “I need you to do something else.” He grabbed Eason’s shoulder and squeezed like a vice-grip. “If it comes to it, don’t let those things get my grandchild.”

I should have shot myself while I had the chance, Eason thought.

“If I was smart, I would have have told them to get into one of the taller buildings downtown,” Fennel said. Some of them have helicopter pads on their roofs. Too bad those things have the stadium surrounded.”

A staccato of rapid gunfire echoed through the concrete halls of the stadium.

River side! River side… the gate is buckling, all units fall back to secondary positions."

Eason dropped his cigarette and ran up the stadium ramp leading to the next level. From there he and Fennel rode an escalator to the club level and pushed through an unlocked gate leading out into the stands. A Blackhawk was sitting idle on the 50-yard line. Across the stadium he could see the river-side gate with the section in question swaying back and forth by at least a foot.

In another section of the gate, a huge mound of the undead had formed a pile of bodies large enough for one of the undead to grab the top of the gate and pull itself over. A soldier pointed his weapon at the creature and fired off a shot that left the ghoul unmoving.

By ones and twos the undead were spilling over the top while more soldiers rushed to take up a firing line near the gate. In the stands, thousands of spectators hustled to get as far away from the failing gate as possible.

Built into each corner of the stadium were spiral ramps that led to every level of the facility. Soldiers took up positions on the inward facing arc of both spirals on the riverside of the stadium. They opened fire into the growing mound.