by Glyn Gardner
SSgt Brown stood and shook his head. Shane was gone. He looked at the rapidly growing pool of blood. His stomach was starting to grow too, like he’d just eaten a huge meal. The knife must have gotten his aorta. He’d seen that before. The aorta was the big artery coming out of the heart. If you rupture it, you can bleed out in under a minute. SSgt Brown couldn’t help but envy the young paramedic. He’d died a quick death.
Suddenly shots rang out from inside the house, followed by screaming. SSgt Brown and Theresa charged through the door they had just come through. As they came out of the bedroom, a zombie met them in the hallway. This one was a teen aged boy wearing jeans and no shoes. His long hair was slick with blood.
It grabbed SSgt Brown by his uniform top and pulled the big NCO close. SSgt Brown for his part was able to get his rifle between himself and the zombie. He shoved as hard as he could in some kind of macabre push-up. Although he could not push the teenager away, neither could the zombie get close enough to bite the soldier.
Finally, the big soldier threw his right leg behind the zombie’s left leg and was able to break the zombie’s hold as he flung it to the ground. Before the zombie could react, he shoved his boot in its chest and fired his rifle point blank into its face. The zombie released its grip as the 5.56 mm jacketed rifle round drove through its skull, turning its brain into something with the consistency of grape jelly.
A woman’s scream from down stairs spurred him to continue towards the stairs. This is not how this was supposed to go. He and Theresa had both cleared houses correctly. He knew that she knew how to stack outside of a door, and how to cover her sector upon entry into a space. He’d seen it. Heck, she and Jackson were downright great at it.
But, that wasn’t happening now. His people were separated and reacting to their own individual situations. To put it in military thinking, the zombies had the initiative, and his people didn’t.
Another zombie emerged from a room between him and the stairs. Shit! Another scream and more gunshots rang out down stairs. “Back,” he ordered Theresa. “Out on the deck!”
When they emerged onto the deck, SSgt Brown jumped from the deck onto the truck. He slid down the front windshield without looking back. He knew Theresa was there. He landed hard on the ground, forgetting to roll.
He could see the front door open as he got to his feet. About that time Theresa landed next to him. She landed much softer than he. She was ready as soon as her feet found mother Earth. They charged to the door but did not enter.
“Comin’ in,” he yelled. He led the way, Theresa followed two steps behind.
The scene in front of them was something straight out of a slaughter house. At the door, two zombies lay, nice neat little holes in their heads. There were several other bodies that were dismembered on the floor of the room. SSgt Brown couldn’t begin to organize body parts enough to count the number of dead. All of the furniture was overturned.
On the opposite side of the room, Ms. Hebert was using a brass table lamp as a shield. A zombie had one side of it and was trying its damnedest to reach the woman. Every time it would advance, she’d use its weight and push it to one side or the other. She never pushed it far enough away for her to be able to escape, but it couldn’t get its hands on her either.
Lying on the floor behind her was Sgt Procell. Blood was pouring from a hole in his leg. The pool of blood was growing rapidly. He was pale and screaming. His rifle was a few feet away. He wasn’t trying to use it.
“Oh God!” she screamed when she saw them. “Help him! I shot him!” Theresa darted past SSgt Brown. Shoving the shotgun against the remaining zombie’s head, she pulled the trigger. Its head exploded in the same blackish-pink mist that she had become accustomed to.
At the same moment, the zombie from the top of the stairs tumbled down. Before it could regain its feet, Theresa dispatched it with another well aimed shotgun blast.
“Are there any more?” SSgt Brown pressed Ms. Hebert. She looked at him with a wild look. He’d seen it before. She was shutting down. Right now, she was just as out of the fight as Sgt Procell. He needed to get her back. “Cover the stairs,” he ordered Theresa
He placed his hand on Ms. Hebert’s shoulder. She recoiled from his touch. “Ms. Hebert,” he began in as soft a voice as he could muster. “It’s ok.” She was staring at Sgt Procell, crying. The younger soldier was still writhing in pain on the ground.
“Ms. Hebert,” he tried again. “You have to look at me.” She continued to stare at the wounded man. “Hey!” he finally yelled. She turned to his voice. Good, at least she was responding to something.
“He’s going to be ok,” he told her. He hoped he was telling her the truth. “What happened?” He knew she needed to say it. She needed to get whatever happened off her chest. Until then, she was going to remain like this.
She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I shot him,” she began. “I didn’t mean to. That thing scared the hell out of me,” she said as she pointed at the headless zombie. “I turned and my finger must have been on the trigger. The gun went off and he just went down screaming. Oh Jesus! I didn’t mean to shoot him,” she sobbed.
“It’s going to be ok,” he told her. “We need to get him taken care of. Can you help Theresa, while I see to his wounds?” She shook her head yes. She stood up and retrieved her pistol.
He moved to Sgt Procell. He’d already determined that the wound was on the NCO’s leg. A quick assessment revealed that it was worse than he believed. The bullet had hit the soldier’s right leg below the knee, shattering his tibia. SSgt Brown could feel the bones crunching as he squeezed the leg. Sgt Procell screamed in pain again.
“Sorry about that Ed,” he said in as soothing a voice as he could.
“It’s ok,” Sgt Procell answered through gritted teeth. “How bad is it?”
“Not good,” he said matter-of-factly. “Looks like the bullet broke your shin. I can stop the bleeding, but you’re not going to be able to walk.”
Ah, heck,” he chuckled. “I was getting kinda tired of walking anyway.” He winced in pain as SSgt Brown tied a bandage around his leg.
“Yeah,” the big NCO replied. “I’m pretty sick of humping around myself.” After he was satisfied that he’d secured the bandage and that the bleeding had stopped, or at least slowed down, he turned his attention to the broken leg.
He liberated the legs of a broken chair and cut some material from the overturned couch. He began fashioning a splint. He secured it above Sgt Procell’s knee and allowed it to extend about a half inch below his boot heel. He remembered from his first aid training that he should take off the boot but decided against it.
“So, what happened?” he asked.
“Well, you guys were heading inside from upstairs, so I figured we’d come through the front door. You know, catch whatever was in here from two sides?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way Ed,” the bigger man replied. “But, that was damned stupid.”
“You’re telling me? I went through that door and peeled left. When I started coming back to the middle of the room, she was still in the door. She screamed and then I got hit. I don’t know if she dropped her gun, or that thing knocked it out of her hand, but next thing I knew, she’s between it and me and she’s fending it off with a fucking lamp.”
“I heard several shots. I think she must have run outa bullets.” He had no idea who had shot at what or how many bullets the woman had. Right now, it didn’t matter. “Next time you want to join the ranks of us door knockers, make sure the person who has your back knows what they’re doing.”
He tied the last knot in the splint. “How’s that feel?”
“Better,” he answered. “Help me up.” Once on his feet, he tried to put some pressure on the end of the splint. An electric jolt shot through his leg up to his hip. “Ooowwww!” he howled.
“Ok,” SSgt Brown said as he eased the man into a chair. “We need to find you a crutch or something.”
Ms. Hebert leaned a
gainst the banister crying. She couldn’t believe she’d shot Sgt Procell. The thought that a month ago she’d never even fired a gun never crossed her mind. She didn’t make excuses. She just knew that they had a wounded man and it was her fault.
Theresa stood next to her trying to think of something to say. She could see the woman was upset but totally misconstrued why. Finally she tried to say something comforting.
“You know he died quickly,” she announced abruptly. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t suffer.”
The puzzled look on the older woman’s face told Theresa she had not said the right thing.
“What? What do you mean he died quick?”
“Shane,” the girl said meekly. “Shane didn’t suffer. He must have cut a big artery or something. He struggled for a second, but then he just closed his eyes and it was over.”
Ms. Hebert began to sob even harder now. Tears cut a path through the dirt on her cheeks. She had been so caught up in her own guilt and grief that she hadn’t even realized that the fireman wasn’t in the room. Oh God, she thought, how? She realized that the girl didn’t understand her guilt.
“I’m sorry,” the girl said. “Were you guys very close?”
“No,” she answered. “I didn’t really know him at all actually.” Theresa’s blank stare told her that the girl did not understand. “I wasn’t upset over Shane. I didn’t even know that he was dead. I was upset about shooting the Sergeant.”
A knot immediately formed in the pit of Theresa’s stomach. The image of Larry Landry flashed into her head. They had rescued Larry and his dad off of their roof. Larry’s dad was bitten and turned while they were hiding in a store. The zombie father attacked his son. Theresa had tried to kill the older Landry in order to save the younger Landry. She ended up shooting and killing both.
The older woman saw tears begin to stream down the young girl’s face. Theresa told her how she too had accidently shot a fellow survivor and how she felt guilty for a long time afterwards. She told her how she had turned that guilt into anger and used it to help her focus on the task of killing the undead.
Both women turned at the sound of the front door closing. SSgt Brown had apparently finished bandaging Sgt Procell. He asked Theresa to help him clear the rest of the house. There were no more gunshots.
A few minutes later, they returned to the living room. SSgt Brown had an ornate wooden cane in his hand. “Couldn’t find any crutches Ed but I got you this.” The younger NCO accepted the gift and stood. He’d have to get used to it but it was better than trying to walk on a broken shin.
Ms. Hebert had disappeared for a few minutes. When she returned, she had a tray filled with all manner of post-apocalyptic delicacies. There were three bags of beef jerky, a bottle of wine, a plastic bottle of generic soda, several jars with various vegetables in them, plates, glasses, and even flatware. The group enjoyed the first meal they’d had in over 24 hours.
The Fire Station
Sam, Frank, Jen, Mike and Jackson sat in a corner of the roof away from the rest of the group. A nose count had revealed that the group had dwindled from almost 22 to 13.
Sam had watched as the truck that slammed into the building and knew who should have been in the truck. He also knew the kitchen crew and he knew Tom and Cindy. They were his people, his neighbors, his firemen, his friends. Damn it, they were his responsibility.
“So, what now?” he asked the rest of the group. Jen could hear the despair in his voice. Jen felt the same despair. Things were worse than bleak. She felt a shiver run down her spine. She wasn’t sure if it was an emotional response or the fact that it was getting cold.
She looked at the setting sun. Her heart sank a little lower. It was already cool. The night promised to be a cold one. She looked back at the group. Aside from a few who had escaped wearing long sleeved shirts, most people had no protection from the cold. No one had brought any blankets, or food. The night promised to be cold and miserable.
“I don’t know Sam,” Frank answered finally. “We’re screwed.”
“We’re not screwed,” Mike interjected. “There’s got to be something we can do.”
“What? What the hell are we gonna do?” He began to raise his voice.
“I don’t know,” Mike said. “But we’ll figure something out.”
“Figure it out? Figure it out? Take a look around!” His yelling was attracting the attention of the other survivors. “We’re on a fucking roof, surrounded by zombies. Shit! We’ve got nothing! We don’t even have blankets to sleep under tonight!”
“Calm down,” Sam interjected. “You’re not helping, Frank.”
He lowered his voice. “I’m not helping? Really? What good is this cheerleader crap doing? We are up shit’s creek without a paddle and the boat is sinking fast, Sam!”
“Ok, ok. We need to figure out some kind of plan to get off this roof.” He stood again, and began pacing the edge of the roof. Jen joined him.
“We are up shit’s creek,” he told her. “You know that, right?”
“We’re in trouble. Mike knows that. He just doesn’t want to look like he’s giving up. He wants to sound like the tough hero in front of me.”
“He is pretty tough,” Sam replied.
“He’s my hero, too. If you would have told me a year ago that Mike had it in him, I would have called you a liar. For years he just kind of cruised through life; never showing much initiative or trying too hard. He pretty much just cruised through life.”
She stopped and looked west as the orange sky faded into gray. “I knew he wasn’t the husband my mother had wanted me to marry. Nurses are supposed to marry doctors or other nurses. I married a security guard.”
She started walking again. “Then, the world fell apart. The dead began to attack the living. And my mediocre husband turned into superman. I’d never seen him act with such passion. He was never so…so…decisive. He never took charge before this. The zombies brought out the best in my husband. I’ve never loved him like I have in the past few weeks.”
She stopped and looked Sam in the eyes. “If my husband says there’s a chance to get off this roof, then I believe him.”
“Then let’s help him figure out a way out of this mess,” he replied.
Mike was staring at the vehicles in the rear parking lot of the station, Jackson standing next to him. There were several pickup trucks and a couple of SUV’s. Both SUV’s were painted red, like fire trucks. He knew they belonged to the fire station. They could all fit if they could just get enough vehicles started. There was the answer.
“How fast do you figure you can run from this building to those trucks?” he asked the young soldier.
“It’s less than 100 yards,” the trooper answered. “I can make it in maybe 10 seconds. Why?”
“I have an idea,” the older man told him.
“Hey Sam,’ he called. “Where are the keys to those vehicles?”
Sam unsnapped the key ring from his belt. He tossed two of the keys to Mike. “Those start the sprint trucks.” He also held up his personal key ring. “This starts that blue Tundra over there.”
He turned to Frank. “You got any keys?” The younger man produced the keys to his Silverado, and tossed them to his boss.
That’s enough, Mike thought. We can do this. He told them his plan. They weren’t sure it would work, but agreed to help.
The plan was simple enough. The roof they were on was two-tiered. They were on the top tier, which connected to the ground by the ladder they had ascended earlier. The lower tier also had a ladder leading to the ground. There was no ladder leading from one tier to the other. Once a person was on the lower tier, the only way back was by using the ladder from the ground. The one surrounded by zombies at the moment.
Mike and Jackson would jump from the upper tier to the lower tier. They would take the keys to one of the SUV’s. At the same time, Frank would descend about halfway down the taller ladder and make a lot of noise. Mike hoped that this would keep the zombies occupie
d and allow him and Jackson to jump to the ground and get to the SUV.
From there, they would simply back the SUV up to the ladder, crushing any zombies in the way. Frank and Jen would climb down to the SUV. From there it was a simple matter of shuttling them to Frank’s truck. The process would be repeated until the roof was evacuated. No sweat.
Mike checked his pistol. Jackson made sure his rifle was loaded. He started to withdraw his bayonet from its scabbard. The pain under his arm reminded him that sharp objects don’t always poke the bad guys. He pushed it back down. He looked to Mike. The older man wordlessly nodded. Go.
The two jumped the eight feet from the top tier to the lower one. They could hear Frank behind them descend the ladder, loudly. Jackson could imagine SSgt Brown telling the man he was making more noise than a busted chainsaw. He hoped his NCO was ok. A sudden feeling of guilt washed over him. He shook it off as they reached the ladder.
The area below was clear. They descended the ladder and began sprinting towards the SUV. Jackson slowed as his ears picked up a familiar sound. It was faint, but growing louder. Wop, wop, wop. A chopper! There was a chopper in the air. He stopped, scanning the sky for the unseen helicopter.
Unfortunately, so did Frank. Upon hearing the helicopter, he climbed back up the ladder. Without him to occupy the zombies, those closest to Jackson turned and saw the two men on the ground.
Mike hadn’t stopped as fast as Jackson did. There were a good 15 yards between the two men. Both of whom were now caught in no-man’s-land. Without someone to distract the local zombies, the path between them and the building quickly filled with the undead.
“C’mon!” Mike yelled to Jackson. He ran towards the SUV. He hoped that Jackson followed. Not hearing Mike over the sound of the Helicopter that was settling into a hover over the firehouse, Jackson ran towards the ladder. He judged, correctly, that he and Mike could dispatch the few zombies between them and the ladder.
