Slaughterhouse

TWENTY-NINE.

The two trucks drove through the night, heading toward the glow of combat in the center of Fort Drum. Lee had ordered Murphy to drive a bit erratically, as if he were under a tremendous laughing spell. Silhouetted against the glow of the headlights, Lee could see the head of one of the corpses strapped to the grille lolling back and forth, its hair matted down beneath a paste of dried blood and gore. The stink of death was everywhere. Lee didn’t know how they were able to do it, but the soldiers in the back hooted and howled, acting infected.

They began to roll past groups of Klowns. The soldiers in the back cackled madly, and the Klowns laughed back, raising their weapons and waving them in the air. Lee saw uniformed military among them, but most appeared to be civilians. The truck jounced a bit as it rolled over a body.

“Getting kind of weird, sir,” Murphy said.

The Klowns were using torches and bonfires to light up the night, and sparks wheeled about in the air. The stench of burnt meat reached them, accompanied by screams. Lee looked to the right and saw living soldiers—presumably uninfected—being burned alive. They’d been tied to office chairs and plopped in the middle of large bonfires.

“Weird isn’t the word I would use, Mike,” Lee said after a moment.

More like nightmarish. It was hard to keep up the laughing act after witnessing that.

Lee checked his watch. Two minutes had elapsed since his communication with Walker. Ahead, he could see the outer bands of the Klown force, a huge, ragtag collection of pulsing insanity armed with every weapon. Lee was thankful the Infected hadn’t taken over some heavy armor units. Those would be almost impossible to overcome with the forces presently under his direct command. But the Klowns did have vehicles, trucks, Humvees, and even construction equipment. The Infected were flailing against the outermost ring of the defenses that had been erected around Hays Hall. Shipping containers, tractor trailers, earth-filled HESCO and concrete jersey barriers topped with concertina wire—already decorated with dozens if not hundreds of Klown corpses—surrounded the two-story, metal-roofed brick building that housed the brains of the 10^th Mountain Division (Light Infantry). The corpses that littered the grounds around the defensive perimeter numbered in the thousands. For headquarters guys, the surviving elements of the 10^th had done an awesome job at keeping the goblins at bay.

Murphy slowed the truck as it started rolling over more bodies. The rig swayed from side to side like a powerless ocean liner drifting in a beam sea.

“Wizard, this is Six. Over.”

“Six, this is Wizard. Go ahead. Over.” Walker’s voice sounded high-pitched and strained.

“Wizard, Six. Did you pass on to Mountaineer that we’re rolling up Division Drive? Over.”

“Roger, Six. Mountaineer knows you’re close to making station. It’s all up to you now. Orders for us? Over.”

“Wizard, this is Six. Get the battalion in the fight. Start rolling. Six, out.” Lee had just finished the transmission when someone thumped on the door then clambered up onto the running board. A grizzled, blood-soaked face peered in through the window, blue eyes glittering brightly in the flickering light generated by fires and firearms. Lee started cackling and glanced at Murphy.

“Laugh,” he tittered as he cranked down the window.

Murphy started chuckling as well as he was able.

“Hey, fuckers, who are you?” the man on the running board shouted through hysterical laughter.

“We’re the fucking U.S. Army, asshole!” Lee said, laughing himself. “We got us some shit to bring to the party!”

“You know this place?” the man cackled.

“Fuck, yes! We’ll blow a hole right through the wall!”

The man laughed even harder, and Lee thought the guy was about to lose his grip on the window sill. He peered into the truck’s cab, looking at Lee’s filthy uniform. “Man, looks like you guys’ve been through some shit already. But where’s your junk? We all wear junk here, man!”

Lee had anticipated the question. Presuming “junk” meant the gruesome decorations of body parts most of the Klowns wore on their persons, he reached down to the floor. When he straightened, he was holding a severed hand he had cut from one of the corpses they had used to decorate the trucks.

“You need a helping hand, bro?” he asked, inserting more laughter. He was beginning to understand the insanity. If he had to keep laughing much longer, he might go crazy himself.

The other man laughed then fell away from the window as the truck lurched over a stack of bodies. The tires doubtless kicked up a fountain of gore as they spun for a moment before finding traction.

“Now this is one fucked-up mission, sir,” Murphy said, fighting with the wheel, a stupid grin frozen on his face.

“Just get us to the barrier, Mike,” Lee said. “Just a little farther, man.”