by Tufo, Mark
“My people,” Eastman said.
“Every time I feel like we go over a hurdle together you do dumb shit like that. Go back there right now, Major, and give them an order. See if they look over to me for approval before doing it. Then you can go and threaten their careers and freedom. See if that tact works. Or we could just work together and get shit done.”
“It’s a nuclear device.”
“Fuck you,” I blurted out, didn’t even mean to.
“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Well no shit. How much danger were we in after your little paint shaker experiment?”
“As long as it didn’t break free from its straps, we should be fine. If not, I don’t think you would have even noticed.”
“Comforting, Major. Can’t tell you how much fun it is for me, knowing that thing is aboard. And why?”
“Treading again on need to know.”
“Eastman.”
“Major.”
“Major.” I acquiesced. “What does Bennington want with a nuke? Can’t deploy it on the zombies; wherever they are, there are people too.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss what the Colonel wants with it.”
“The SEALs.” The light dawned in my head. “I was wondering why they were here. I figured they were a back-up plan if we didn’t make it. That was the primary mission, wasn’t it? The scientists were just a little gravy on top of the meat and potatoes.”
“Colonel Bennington ordered me to retrieve the weapon and that’s what I did.”
“Just because you were ordered doesn’t mean you had to follow through.”
He paused. “I have family on that base, just like you.”
“You realize where we rank in all of this, right? He wanted to make sure those scientists got back safe and sound, so he left us behind to bring back the bomb.”
“Talbot.”
“Lieutenant.”
He didn’t bother adding that part when he replied. “We’re in the military. Our entire life consists of doing things we don’t like on someone else’s orders.”
“That is a pathetic excuse.”
“We’re not all like you. We can’t simply do what we want and get away with it.”
“Does Randing know what he’s coming back for?”
“No.”
“I’m sure he’s going to be thrilled.”
“Sir.” It was Sergeant Winters.
I turned back. “Are you ever going to address me and it not be zombies?”
He shrugged.
“How we doing on bullets?” I asked.
“Locked and loaded,” Stenzel informed me. “If Grimm would stop eating for a minute or two might have all the ones up off the floor, too.
“All this running around is making me hungry,” he called out.
“How heavy is it?” I sighed. I had serious misgivings about taking the thing, not only the danger it put us in right now, but the long-term consequences.
“Around three hundred pounds…with the case it would be approaching four hundred.”
“I don’t want to be a stick in the mud, but without a vehicle, how do you think we’re going to heft this thing around an active battlefield?”
He didn’t respond.
“Great. You make the shitty orders and I’m just supposed to magically find a way to grant your wish. Want me to do a little jig for you as well?”
“Good god no.” BT had come up to see what the problem was. “I’ve seen you dance. You look like you’re trying to stomp out a brush fire, even have the arms flailing about in no particular rhythm.” He let it go, stopping in mid-windmill, when he realized I was not sharing in his amusement, though he did my unique lack of grace on the dance floor justice. “Spill it, because that was comedic gold; nailed the visuals, too.”
“Major?” I deferred.
“Is this going to get us out of here quicker?”
“Beats me,” I told him.
“Fine.” He turned his attention to BT. “Gunney, there’s a thermonuclear device in the back that we need to get back to the runway.”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s what I said!”
“Mike, what are we supposed to do?” He looked to me, completely ignoring the major.
“I’m going to throw this in there, because it might affect your decision making,” Eastman said.
“If he had decision-making skills, you mean. Sorry,” BT added at the end when he realized I wasn’t liking any part of this. “It’s difficult when they are set up so beautifully. It’s like walking in a room with dominos all lined up and no one there to tell you not to touch them. I mean really, how can you not set that in motion?”
“Done?” I asked.
“For now.” At least he was truthful.
“We don’t bring that thing back, we’ll all be packing our bags.”
“Fuck.” I was looking out the cockpit, hat in one hand, the other I was running through my hair. My family was starting to get into the routine of a more normal existence. The road was nowhere anybody should be. Bennington had many faults, like any of us, but he had that installation buttoned up tight. “What if we tell him it was ruined in our escape attempt? Leaking radiation, maybe.” I had turned back around to gauge Eastman’s reaction.
“He’ll know we’re bullshitting him.”
“Yeah, he will,” BT piped in. “Guy has cop instincts.”
“Lieutenant, I’m sure whatever you’re doing up there is important, but, well, you know…zombies,” Winters yelled up.
“All right people–we’re gearing up. We’re out in three minutes,” I said, going to the back.
“And the crate?” Eastman asked.
“I don’t see the Hulk anywhere around here, Major. Right now our objective is to get away from the zombies and to keep them from congregating here. We’ll get some transportation and swing back by.”
“I will absolutely not leave that untended!”
“Perfect. You hold down the fort and we’ll swing by and pick you up.”
“You insolent piece of…”
“Careful, Major,” BT said, stepping up. The rest of my squad’s attention was now rapt on what was happening, though they were doing their best to pretend not to notice.
“Two and a half minutes, people.” I was in the crew area.
BT stared the Major down before joining me. It was a good bet when we got back we were both going to be made Private, and we’d be cleaning out overused latrines with our own toothbrushes for a very long time. The major and his crew were in a small huddle, I’m sure discussing how they were going to deal with the mutiny. There was a chance, albeit a small one, that they might draw down on us. It would be a bad move on their part, but one I needed to be prepared for. I made hand signals for everyone to change their channels to a private one before I spoke.
“We’ve got a situation here; I’m not prepared to go into details at the moment, but the major and his crew might try something. If they do, I want them disarmed quickly and hopefully free from injury, but you are authorized for deadly force if it becomes necessary.” Yeah, you can bet that got a bunch of looks around. BT wasn’t a fan of that. What the major wanted us to do was within his rights to order, so this would be construed as a major offense, one that could land me and some of my team in front of a firing squad.
“You sure about this?” BT covered his mic.
“No,” I answered him as honestly as I could. “BT, we try and drag that fucking bomb past a thousand zombies what do you think is going to happen to us?”
I managed a brief smile as I looked over at Tommy; he had one bullie on his back and one in front. They all looked pretty content with their lot in life. Never met one of those dogs that would forgo a good ride as opposed to walking. I let out a sigh when Eastman said he was coming with us.
As I exited the plane, there was a conga line of zombies just hitting the greenway. I got everyone to the front of the plane and out of sight of our pursuers
. If we moved quickly enough, we could make it to and up the overpass, roughly a quarter of a mile away, without them ever seeing us. What they did once they got to the last place they saw us was anybody’s guess. Normally they’d just kind of shuffle around in the general area until they caught wind of new prey. I had a strong feeling that Dewey would send his lackeys to check out that overpass.
We were making good time, even with the civilians. Tommy was making a show of the dogs being heavy, but the slow link in our procession was Gary. BT and I were dragging him at a decent clip. Stenzel was leading the way and Winters was watching our collective asses.
Within five minutes we had climbed the embankment and got to the far side of the road and out of view. Winters was lying down on the road, keeping us informed. We took a left, heading to a gas station and fast food joint a quarter of a mile away. We’d regroup there and then head back to the airport where I could drop off the major and most of my squad, including my brother and the church people.
“Sir, the zombies didn’t stop at the plane,” Winters informed me. I’d left PFC Grimm with him to watch his back while he was lying prostrate on the roadway. “I don’t know how they could have seen us, but they’re heading straight this way.”
“We’re just going to have to footrace them back. Withdraw and meet us at the Exxon.”
“On it.”
Winters and Grimm were with us in under five minutes. I would have loved to spell them a breather, but we were under some serious constraints. Randing was heading back and we still needed to get the bomb. We got underway the moment they stepped into the lot.
“What about one of those ramp trucks?” BT asked while we were running.
I was on a different track. “Where the hell did they even get the nuke from?”
“Does it matter at this point?”
“Sort of. Do they just leave those things hanging around like those green mailboxes where mailmen can grab a raincoat if they need one?”
“You realize that those two things have nothing to do with each other, right?”
“I’m serious man! Where the fuck did they get a nuke? Are there silos around here?”
“I was under the impression they had all shut down. I guess not.”
“That’s the best you got? You guess not?”
“You’re obsessing about the wrong thing,” he said, wanting me to close the book on the subject.
“Don’t you think I know that? I just don’t know what else to go on about. It’s a fucking nuke.”
Stenzel halted us as she got to the edge of some brush that led to a greenway, a fence, and then the airport. “Sir, looks clear.”
“Too clear?” I asked over the headset.
“Too clear? Keep going on with your paranoid self.” BT was getting ready to break for the front and out.
“Hold on there. Let’s go over a few things,” I said.
“What?” he fairly growled.
“Winters, how many zombies were tailing us to the overpass?”
“Ballpark…I’d say a little over a hundred.”
“Tommy, how many zombies do you think were on the tarmac?”
“Had to be eight hundred, possibly a thousand.”
“Major Eastman, how many zombies would you guess you blended into oblivion?”
“Wasn’t planning on counting them, but if pressed for a number…two hundred, give or take?”
“Now BT, I’m going to be completely honest with you. In high school, I smoked a lot of pot, like, to the point where I single-handedly bought a Taco Bell, and I was never really good at the maths. Pretty much made sure I had a hall pass for my entire senior year, but even taking the minimums and the maximums into account, there are roughly five hundred zombies still in the general area.”
“Movement in the concourse,” Stenzel said.
“They’re hiding,” BT said through gritted teeth, looked like he was about ready to grind them down.
“How are we going to clear them out before Major Randing gets here?” Eastman asked.
“Not going to be able to. BT and I will draw a few off as we grab a ramp truck and go retrieve the package.”
“You volunteering me now?”
“You’re the strongest here by a factor of three or four. Yeah, I’m volunteering you to help me move a stupid-heavy box.” I’d learned I could get BT to do damn near anything if I made him look like Superman first. Who among us doesn’t like a good ego stroke? Plus, no part of what I’d said wasn’t true.
“Don’t think I don’t know you think you’re manipulating me.”
“Let’s get this done.” I smacked his chest. “How much time do we have, Major?”
“Randing can circle for half an hour; after that he either lands or flies off before he gets into fuel issues.”
“And if we can’t get a truck started?” I was now up front with Stenzel, looking at a row of the belt trucks. Eastman’s lack of a response was a response in its own right.
“As long as they’re using ethanol-free gas we might be alright.”
“We’d better hope they were using it or the fuel lines are going to be gummed up.” BT tapped my shoulder and we got moving.
We pulled ourselves up and over the ten-foot fence, and as soon as our feet touched the runway Stenzel warned us that she thought the zombies in the concourse had seen us.
“They holding up a welcome home sign?” I quipped.
“Worse. They’re pointing,” she responded.
“Ruined my joke, Corporal.”
“Sorry, sir…it wasn’t that funny anyway.”
BT snorted at that. “You could order her to laugh.”
“Kiss my ass. Let’s run; no reason to be stealthy now.”
“We should have circled further,” BT said, far too late. We had a thousand yards or more to get to the trucks which were inconveniently parked right next to the terminal.
“No time for that.”
“And if we die now?”
“Then we probably should have circled further,” I told him.
“Eat a dick.”
I think it was Stenzel who laughed, though it could have been anyone on the party line.
We were halfway there when the zombies exited the building. We had a sliver of good luck when the door nearest the trucks must have been chained or inaccessible. Still was going to be extremely close. These might be Dewey’s zombies, but they weren’t Dewey. Instead of figuring out where we were going and attempting to cut us off, they were all about hitting us in our current position. Eventually, we would be running for the exact same spot, but for right now, they were trying to get to us and that played in our favor.
We were about a hundred yards from the trucks when BT came up with this little gem: “What about the keys?”
Such a fundamental piece of the pie, and yet we’d overlooked it. One of those “trees for the forest” types of miscalculations. This was like trying to make an apple pie without apples. Sure, it was something my sister would have a go at, but it would fail miserably, a lot like this whole venture, should there not be keys. Had about a three-second window where we could abort the entire thing and veer off, head to the far side where we should have come in on in the first place. Go over the fence and circle back around to be with the squad. The two other scenarios were, we get into the truck, there are keys and it magically starts, we continue the mission. Or, two, we barricade ourselves in the non-moving vehicle surrounded by hundreds of zombies while Randing hot-lands, grabs up my squad, and departs for home. I gave option one a solid ten percent chance of success, so which way do you think we went?
“What if the door is locked?”
“Stop asking questions!”
“That’s your solution? Stop asking questions?” He would have rebuked me a second time, but oxygen was at a premium at the moment. I was hoping there was no reason to lock up one of these trucks; I mean, what fucking chop-shop worth its weight in criminals is parting out a belt truck? We were going to beat the zees to th
e truck, but by inches; once I touched that handle the decision was made. I took note as I got closer that there was, indeed, a slot for a key below the handle. I spurred myself on. I took the side closest to the zombies; it happened to also be the driver’s side. BT rocked the entire vehicle as he used it to slow himself down. He was halfway around as I gripped the handle. I pushed in the button, expecting to feel the locking mechanism release; instead I was met with the very anti-climactic feeling of it pushing in without resistance, meaning it was locked.
The truck rocked as I frantically worked at opening a door that was dead set against it. My options were limited and very time constrained: bust out the window or start shooting zombies.
“Get in here!” It was BT. I spared a glance; he was sitting in the passenger seat, I would imagine trying to figure out what the fuck I was doing.
“Locked!” I shouted over my shoulder. BT, in his haste to get the door open, nearly pushed me into the approaching horde, whom I was now busy attempting to slow down. I shot two zombies without even having to aim, hitting the first low in the neck and sending it spiraling off to the side as it attempted to hold its head up. The other I stopped dead in its tracks, the bullet making a neat circle under its right eye. That was when I was so rudely pushed forward.
“Get in!”
The command needed to be verbalized as much as a young child heading down the stairs on Christmas Day needs to be told to open his presents. Or a starving person told to eat Thanksgiving dinner. Or a foot fetishist needs to be asked if he would care to lick toes at a sandal convention. I don’t know if those actually exist, but if they did, there would be some very happy, albeit strange, people.
I dove in, making sure to lock the door quickly. BT was dangling the keys in front of me; he nearly dropped them as the first of the zombies slammed up against the side of the truck. I snatched them and put them in the ignition just as the window behind me exploded inward. I noted a zombie with what looked like a gargoyle statue in his hand, straight from some Gothic cathedral. Not sure where he got it, but he was wielding it effectively, slamming it into the side of the truck as he tried to make his way closer to my window. Fortunately, because of the press of zombies, Quasimodo was having a difficult time getting in there.
