ZNIPER: A Sniper’s Journey Through The Apocalypse.

by Ward III, C.

  “Stay tuned for another World Health Organization report after this commercial break.”

  After the evening’s news broadcast, the town council sat around the picnic table under the pavilion, which had become a respected ceremonial centerpiece for the entire town. In fact, the park around the pavilion was the only landscaped area in town, with grass and hedges trimmed by an unknown volunteer. Those who sat at the picnic table were treated with a high level of respect by the townsfolk, which made Victor feel incredibly awkward.

  “Sounds like Europe is having a hell of a time,” the mayor said, opening the dialogue.

  “Not much we can do about it. Would be nice if they could send some of that support our way, though,” Victor added.

  “At least they still have electricity. And food,” Erica said quietly with a rumble in her hungry stomach.

  “Speaking of food, the dairy farm out by the Amish community would like to give us some milk and beef cattle. Even offered to let us borrow his cattle trailer,” Sheriff Bohner mentioned.

  “What’s the catch?” Raymond asked flatly, as if he knew his guns and ammo were about to be bartered away.

  “We have to transport the cattle trailer. His modern tractor is inoperable, and he’s asked if our mechanics could fix it for him in trade of the cows,” the sheriff explained.

  “Seems fair enough,” the mayor said with a favorable nod. “On the subject of food production, are the underground gardens still producing?”

  “The what?” Victor asked, confused by the mention of underground gardens.

  “Yes, they are. We planted late-season vegetables like celery, broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, and Brussels sprouts, but I fear that we’re going to have to harvest before they’re full grown. We have simply run out of time. Winter is coming,” Jessica explained to the mayor, then shifted in her seat to look at Victor. “We dug a trench about eight feet deep and the width of the bulldozer blade, then we put our hoop house roof on it at ground level. Between the natural subterranean ground temperature and the greenhouse effect of the plastic roof, we can grow produce longer into the season. The trench needed to be dug in a specific direction to maximize the sunlight.”

  “And it works?” Victor asked with a suspicious raised eyebrow.

  “Yup, warmest place in town.” Jessica smiled. “Speaking of, we have begun relocating families to homes with wood fireplaces. During the winter, I fear that living conditions will be cramped with two or three families living in—”

  Victor’s attention was broken by a distant thump sound.

  Victor waved his hands. “Quiet. Shush yourselves.”

  “What was that? It sounded like a car door slamming,” the mayor asked, puzzled by Victor’s sudden change in demeanor.

  “Quiet, damn you!” Victor cursed.

  Another thump, thump, thump could be heard. Victor looked at Raymond.

  “Incoming!” Raymond shouted.

  Victor dove over the picnic table, tackling Erica to the ground, spreading himself over her. Raymond tackled the mayor next to him at the same time the abandoned and boarded-up ice-cream shop, which had previously offered the largest cones in the north, exploded into a ball of fire, smoke, and debris.

  Another explosion erupted inside the town out of Victor’s immediate view. Then another quickly followed. An earsplitting thunder and blinding flash of light exploded on the beach near the pavilion, violently shaking the ground, spraying boiling-hot water and sand all over the picnic table. He laid on Erica for a moment longer to ensure the attack was over before helping her up.

  Kevin was already running for the TDF HQ building. He would have the reactionary forces ready to deploy in a moment. If the fight was over, they’d be tasked to put out fires.

  “What was that?” the mayor screamed with deaf ears, visibly shaking to the point he couldn’t stand upright by himself.

  “Mortars! Who has the capability and motive to bomb your town? I’ll give you one guess!” Victor glared at him, holding onto Erica’s hand tightly.

  He looked past the mayor toward his house to ensure that his children were safe and caught movement down the street. A dozen shadows whipped back and forth. Victor guessed that frightened townspeople were rushing toward the pavilion for answers or to help. But the shadowy people were erratic, jetting in and out of sight.

  As the group raced closer, Victor finally made out details of the lead person sprinting toward him. There was only one person in town who wore a pink buttoned-up shirt and pleated khaki pants.

  “Damn it, Stanly, we don’t have time for your crap right now!” Victor yelled. “We’re in a bit of an emergency here!”

  But Stanly kept sprinting faster than Victor would have given someone with his physique credit for. He assumed the people behind Stanley where his friends coming with him to help, but why were they acting so weird?

  The LED lighting on the pavilion, which was powered by the windmill-charged batteries, cast a ghostly glow over the park lawn. Stanly’s pink shirt had stains and was untucked. It was the first time Victor had seen the councilman in an unclean, unpressed shirt.

  Victor was about to chastise Stanly with a comment about his unkempt appearance when the wind shifted, bringing a rancid scent of feces and sickness. Then Victor heard the growling from the pack rushing toward him. By instinct, he protectively pulled Erica behind him as he reached for his pistol, but she had hers out first.

  He had just cleared his holster, drawing his pistol, when an eruption of gunfire opened around him. Stanly’s beady eyes locked in on Victor. His pale-gray face contorted into an expression of pure hatred and lust. Stanly’s arms reached out, displaying black veins through his pale skin. He sidestepped back and forth, then went low, preparing for his final lunge toward his victim.

  Victor’s pistol light came on as he drew his weapon. He fired a hammer a hammered pair from his hip, as the light on his pistol found Stanly’s chest. His left hand found the pistol as it was thrust forward toward his target’s head. When Victor’s arms fully extended, his weapon light shone right into Stanly’s face, illuminating every diseased detail.

  Victor fired in fast succession. The first round entered Stanly’s wide-open mouth, missing his jagged teeth, clipping a blackened tongue, and exiting out the back of his throat. The second round was absorbed by the bone tissue behind Stanly’s wrinkled nose. The third popped Stanly’s hate-filled right eyeball, showering Victor’s coat with vile bodily fluid and brain matter as Stanly landed on him forcefully, knocking him backward into Erica, all three landing heavily on the concrete.

  Victor grabbed Stanly and rolled off Erica, raising his fist, ready for hand-to-hand combat, but Stanly was already limp. The gunfire around him came to an end, and Victor brought himself back to his feet. Every member of the council had a weapon in their hand: Victor. Erica. Kevin, with the QRF. Jessica. Sheriff Bohner. The mayor. Even Mrs. Cloud. Gaylen held a lever-action rifle with a smoking barrel next to Raymond, who was reloading his pistol with a slightly annoyed and bored expression on his face.

  Kevin briefed them. “Post eight is reporting headlights heading eastbound on Route 55. I think the attack is over.”

  Raymond tilted his chin toward Victor’s gore-covered coat. “Are you good, man? Looks like you have bits of ol’ Stan on you.”

  Victor nodded.

  “Good; grab your stuff. Pick me up with the truck at my place in thirty. We have business to conduct,” Raymond said as he patted Gaylen on the butt and grabbed her accepting hand, walking toward his apartment.

  Victor pulled Erica in close to him and kissed her fiercely until he began to see stars from lack of oxygen. She held him tight, pressing herself into him, ignoring the contaminant on them both. “I’ll be back in a few days. This needs to end,” he whispered into her ear.

  She was shaken by the violence that had ended as a near-death experience. Erica looked down sadly, not wanting to be apart from him again, but she understood what needed to be done.

 
“Where are you going?” the mayor demanded.

  Victor studied the faces of the dead and dying creatures who had been friends of Stanly’s and fellow townsfolk, brutally discarded on the manicured park lawn. He shifted his gaze from the blaze engulfing his favorite ice-cream shop to the rising smoke plumes of the various destroyed homes, wondering how many innocents had been killed or wounded.

  “To cut the head off the snake,” Victor said flatly. “If the Grayling group returns, stall them. Agree to their terms. Give them some minor supplies, maybe a cow or goat. Do not give them weapons or ammo. Got it?”

  SNAKE EATERS

  Decapitate and Devour

  After a quick rinse to clean the bits and pieces of Stanly off him and donning a fresh set of clothes, Victor hugged his children goodbye. Michael almost begged to come with him, commenting several times that he could provide security. Victor reluctantly stepped out the door with an overstuffed backpack on his back and a rifle in his cold hands. Making his way to the motor-pool garage, he ensured the old red truck was topped off and put two extra gas cans in the truck bed.

  Raymond exited his apartment, carrying the same equipment, as soon as Victor pulled up to the curb. “Mind if I drive? I want to stop by the old house to pick up a few things on the way,” Raymond said. “You think we should take a couple TDF guards with us for security?”

  “Nope, I’d prefer we do this alone,” Victor stated matter of factly, thinking about how Michael had begged to come along. Victor didn’t want a bunch of questions or witnesses to the immoral acts which would be conducted in the days soon to follow. Blasting a charging Gray in terror shook most people. Killing a fellow human in self-defense would leave traumatic scars on most survivors for life. Hunting and premeditatively killing a human being, as if on an elk hunt, was reserved for a very select few who were morally flexible.

  Outside the gate, Raymond slowly negotiated the roadway serpentine obstacle turning the wheels sharply back and forth, then came to a stop in the middle of the road. “Going dark,” Raymond said, turning off the headlights, then holding up a night-vision monocle to his left eye while steering with his right hand.

  The old truck picked up speed, cruising at forty miles per hour, slowing occasionally while steering to the left or right to avoid debris on the road. Without night vision, Victor peered out the passenger window into darkness, watching the moon appear in and out through barren trees. Even after several months since the dark day, he still hadn’t become used to how many stars were visible stars in the clear night sky without manmade light pollution. The enormous star-filled sky made him feel lonely, and he wished that they could rewind time to when they shared the road with other motorists.

  Victor wondered how many people were still alive out here, isolated in the wild. The hardships those people faced out here alone simplified the complaints of his life inside the protective walls. His mind came back to the moment as Raymond slowed the truck and turned slowly onto a winding dirt road. He came to a stop, then backed into the driveway next to a house with an attached garage.

  Raymond put the truck in park and turned off the truck, submerging them in silence. They waited and listened for several minutes, anticipating Grays to appear. Finally, Raymond broke the quiet: “May I suggest we stay the night here…it’s safe, and we both need some rest. I have some chow here for breakfast, and we can repack our kit. We should do a little map recon of the best route between here and Grayling and discuss our course of action.”

  Victor hadn’t realized it, but his eyes were quite heavy from an extraordinarily long and stressful day. As much as he wanted to get this job done and get back to his family, a bed sounded heavenly.

  The sound of a clatter woke Victor. Beams of bright morning sunlight pierced through the single boarded-up window. His bare feet hit cold tile, causing a chill to run up his spine. With a pistol in hand, he slowly scanned the hallway as far as he could see from inside his bedroom. About to cross the threshold into the hallway, he caught the long-forgotten aroma of coffee.

  Victor lowered his pistol and poked his head out the bedroom door and into the hallway, seeing Raymond rummaging through the kitchen. He got himself dressed and chased the luring smell.

  “Omelet with ham or beef frankfurters?” Raymond asked, tossing two military rations on the counter.

  “Damn, how old are these? They don’t make this kind of MRE anymore.” Victor acted repulsed by the options, albeit with a hungry stomach.

  “Fine, you get the omelet. Even warmed up, I can’t choke that one down. Don’t mind the expiration date; I assure you they have been stored in a cool, dark place, which prolongs the shelf life. I brought these home with me after I left the corps. That was a day or two ago.”

  Victor scowled at the long-passed expiration date of six years ago but opened the meal anyway. The accessory pack was opened first as he searched for the single serving of instant coffee. While he combed through the meal pack, he found the once-treasured jalapeño cheese spread and squeezed the entire package into the omelet sleeve. While doing so, Raymond casually placed two M-67 fragmentation grenades, one M18 Claymore mine satchel, and another weapon-mountable night-vision optic device on the table. “Other souvenirs I brought home, courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

  Victor dropped his breakfast on the countertop, raising his hands in the air. “Are you kidding me right now? You’ve had this stuff all this time? We could’ve used this for town defense months ago!”

  “This is my gear, and the people of Lake City are lucky I gave them what I did. I wasn’t going to put all my faith in a pair of hunters who broke into my house all those months ago. I didn’t know you, and I wasn’t going to show all my cards on the flop. Besides, the council probably would have given this stuff to the Amish for chicken eggs or something stupid,” Raymond said through a mouthful of brutally dry crackers and peanut butter.

  He handed Victor the hot-water kettle and a clean coffee cup. “How do you want to get there?”

  Victor thought about it for a minute. “We’ll drive at night on the way there for stealth. Backroads only. Nice and slow. Afterward, we can drive during the day, if need be for speed.”

  Raymond opened a road map of northern Michigan and began marking a couple of routes. “These are probably dirt roads with little to no population. That’ll be our primary route.” He jabbed a finger at the map. “These improved roads here may have trouble lurking, but they appear to be rural enough. That will be our alternate route.”

  “Looks about thirty-five miles? Even idling along quietly, we should make it in about three hours. We’ll infiltrate tonight, set up a hide, and conduct surveillance all day tomorrow,” Victor added.

  “What’s our objective? Eliminate their leadership only or complete chaos?” Raymond stopped chewing to ask, attentively eyeing Victor for his answer.

  “Complete chaos,” Victor said, slurping his cup of coffee. “This group is no longer US Military or acting on behalf of America. In fact, they are a direct threat to not only our town but also all citizens of northern Michigan.”

  Raymond smirked. “I’ll bring the Barrett.”

  After a long nap, Raymond rolled off the couch and onto the hardwood floor. After a quick look around, he found Victor on his front porch in a rocking chair with another cup of coffee.

  “You’re kind of brave sitting out here, all by your lonesome.” Raymond eyed the overgrown grass in his front yard. “There were a lot of Grays in this area when I lived here. There are surely even more now.”

  Victor reached down on the opposite side of the rocking chair and lifted a short-barreled AR pistol with a folding stock that he had borrowed from Zavier for this trip. He showed it to Raymond with a smile, then leaned it back against the wall.

  “Did you rat fuck all the chows for that coffee?” Raymond asked with a sneer, wondering how many ransacked MREs he’d find in the kitchen.

  “Just the few you gave me. I had to field strip them to fit in my pack anyway, and we won’t be ab
le to drink this good stuff out there—the smell would compromise us.” Victor said casually while holding his arm outstretched in front of him with two fingers extended horizontally.

  “What are you measuring?” Raymond asked.

  “The sun is two fingers from the horizon, which means thirty minutes till sundown. It’ll be plenty dark enough for us to move out at the end of nautical twilight, which is ninety minutes from now,” Victor stated. “It sure is quiet out here. I’m glad that the mechanics gave the ol’ truck a new muffler.”

  “I’ll load up the truck and pull the dash fuses. We’ll ride completely blacked out tonight,” Raymond told him as he stepped off the porch.

  “You do know that pulling the fuses will kill the heater, too, right?” Victor shivered in the cool evening air. “We better dress warm.”

  Victor drove that night with Raymond as navigator. He cupped the night-vision device to his eye with one hand; he steered with the other. Even though they were creeping down the road at barely an idling speed, the purr of the engine, the muffle from a mostly fixed exhaust, and the vibration of the tire treads beating against road gravel seemed alarmingly loud.

  The single lens night optical device that Victor held to his eye displayed the road in a bright green picture, with a limited narrow field of view reminding him of looking through a paper towel tube. Depth perception with dual lens NODs were bad, and single-lens devices were even worse. The benefit to this device was that it could easily be attached to a rifle. Not knowing how deep the potholes were or how big the branches lying in the road actually were, he swerved the truck slightly to skirt around the shadows, avoiding damage to the truck.

  Thinking back to his wolf-packing black ops with his boys and to the mess of a recovery mission to retrieve Erica, Kevin, and Gaylen, he began to get annoyed with Raymond’s selfishness to withhold this equipment from them. Night vision was a force multiplier, but Victor let it go and changed his focus to the mission at hand.