“Damn it, take those weapons off of full auto, people!” Barrett was still trying to be heard over the din. The noise was getting louder now as others of their party noticed the shooting and raced to join in on the action. Finally, when it became evident that he was either being unheard or ignored, Barrett leaped over the tailgate and began stalking out toward the oncoming horde.
Arlo watched in rapt fascination as the young sergeant strode purposely out into the fire zone. Every step he took put him more in danger of catching a bullet to the back but he didn’t slow down, and he didn’t deviate.
Then the rifle fire began to wane. It grew quieter. Most of the full-auto fire was now coming from the sides of their lines where Barrett wasn’t visible.
Then it stopped altogether.
Arlo was dumbstruck. He watched in silence as the young non-com stopped walking and turned around to face them.
“Do I have your attention now?” Barrett turned and pointed at the approaching mass of infected bodies which was now only some seventy yards distant. “You just wasted thousands of rounds of ammunition, and I haven’t seen more than a dozen of those creatures fall.” He put both hands on his hips and fixed them all with a scowl. “Bullets are not in unlimited supply, people. In two minutes the poor souls you see behind me will be close enough to our lines that even a pack of girl scouts couldn’t miss them.”
Arlo saw several of his people drop their eyes in shame.
Barrett spat into the dust, then continued. “Now put those weapons on semi-auto and wait for me to give the order. Then, and only then, you will take careful aim at the middle of their chests and fire one bullet at a time! Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” The shouted response came from almost every person out there.
With no apparent concern for the closing distance between the infected and himself, Barrett strode back to the truck in which Arlo still stood and hopped into the bed. The young sergeant raised his rifle and took aim at the horde. The others mimicked his actions.
With his eyes still focused on his rifle’s sights, Barrett shouted. “Ready…take aim…fire!”
Instead of the wasteful hosing of the hillside with thousands of bullets, the defensive line now erupted in steady but aimed rifle fire. The infected, most of them only twenty-five yards away, began to fall like bowling pins. A few got close to the trucks, but the troops quickly picked them off.
There was silence for a brief time; then a cheer rose up from one person, then another, then a dozen then a few dozen, then all of them. Arlo knew the praises were not for their triumph over a horde of poor, unarmed and infected victims of a planet-destroying plague. They were not for him as their leader either. The cheers were for Sergeant Barrett who had just become the number one threat to Arlo’s ability to lead his organization.
Arlo would have preferred to spend a bit more time pondering the meaning of the display he’d just witnessed, but he saw one of his aides waving at him. He gingerly climbed down from the truck bed and limped over to the aide, too weary and in pain to care anymore if he appeared vulnerable to the troops.
Banks, one of Arlo’s three aides, raised a curled index finger to his brow in an anemic imitation of a salute. The former lieutenant was too tired to correct him. Besides, he had a look on his face that was clearly serious. Banks delivered his report, and two minutes later he and Arlo were in his command Humvee, headed south on Academy Avenue.
The big vehicle stopped when it drew up next to a pickup that was pulling a trailer. The trailer carried food, gasoline and diesel cans and five-gallon bottles of water. Two people, a man and a woman, were standing in the road by a pile of…something.
“Okay, I’m here, what…” Arlo lost his thoughts at the sight laid out in front of him. Every single person that he had sent to harass the Hilltop Group was lying dead on the road, lined up neatly like a set of dominoes. Their arms were folded across their chests, and each of their faces was covered with the shirt they had been wearing. The entire display smacked of respect for the dead.
The young woman approached him and held out an object. It was a simple white sheet of paper which contained letters written in blue ink. Arlo took it and read:
Giving one’s life for a noble cause is honorable; doing it to dominate and enslave people, especially under these circumstances, is shameful. These young people died unnecessarily and for all the wrong reasons.
This action is not something in which we take pride. We do not look forward to more death on either side, but we are committed to the cause of freedom and human dignity in this new world. We will kill for it and, if necessary, we will die for it. How many of you are so intent on subjugating the survivors of the plague that you will lay down your life for that cause?
The leader of the former U.S. Army soldiers lowered the page and found himself looking directly into the eyes of the young woman who had handed him the letter. He could read volumes from the expression on her face. Her long brown hair was swept back and held in place by a shoelace, and her huge blue eyes held questions. It was evident that she had read the note and been affected by the message it conveyed. The line of dead soldiers, people with whom she had served and fought, was a damning sight, one which exhibited, in blunt honesty, the price of Arlo’s pride.
“You will not mention anything about this letter,” he said while jabbing an index finger at the woman. He noted that she did not flinch as he expected she would but held his gaze calmly instead. She was a pretty woman, short but with an athletic build. The ease and familiarity with which she carried her heavy M1A rifle marked her as a seasoned military person.
Arlo tried to hold her stare until she dropped it, but it was he who lowered his eyes first. He tried to recover his dignity by shifting the pointing finger to where Banks and the other man were standing.
“That goes for you, too,” he warned.
Banks reacted as Arlo had desired, his eyes cast downward and shoulders hunched, a perfect expression of body language which exhibited his acceptance and fear of Arlo’s authority. The second man, the one who had been waiting for them along with the woman, simply turned his head and walked over to where the young lady still stood. They began a whispered conversation which infuriated the former Army Lieutenant. He almost gave in to the urge to get in their faces and force a capitulation of spirit and an acknowledgment of Arlo’s authority, but he didn’t because deep inside he knew these two would probably not acquiesce. They were furious at the loss of their friends, and that was dangerous. Arlo had heard of cases of ‘fragging’ occurring in wartime, a word which meant the deliberate assassination of an officer who was too overbearing and placed his people in unnecessary danger. The name came from the alleged practice of assassinating the officer with a fragmentation grenade so no incriminating bullet could later be recovered and studied. Arlo became acutely aware that he was out here with just Banks to back him up and his aide was not one upon whom a man could bet his life.
“Okay, you two keep an eye on the bodies; we’ll go back and arrange for some trucks and people to come and gather our fallen comrades.”
Then he gestured for Banks to get in the Humvee and get them out of there.
Chapter 25
Dwayne sat back so the Major could lean in closer to the laptop screen and watch the activity that was taking place below. I had just been relieved from my watch on the machine gun and wandered over to chat with Dwayne. The kid was a genius when it came to flying any type of drone, and his expertise had proven critical to our defense. He knew how to keep the devices far enough away to avoid detection yet close enough to gather all needed information, and he had imparted that information to myself and the others who were operating our drones.
I just happened to arrive at the drone table when the Major completed watching the slaughter of the infected at the bottom of the hill. I saw the retired military officer shake his head as he examined the footage. After a few moments, he leaned back, straightened his spine and pointed at the image of
a lone soldier walking away from the western edges of the enemy lines.
“That non-com right there could have a place in my command at any time. What a soldier; too bad he’s on the wrong side.” He turned and saw me. “Hey Virgil, how're the ribs?”
“I’ll live, Sir. I’m ready to go back out with my team.”
“Steady, son. What’s your hurry? You have something against hot food and showers?”
“Nothing against them, Major, it’s just that my team is out there and I’m not with them.”
He gave me a long stare followed by a genuine smile. “You’re Dan’s son, all right. You seem to have gotten a large portion of his courage.” He swiveled his head to the east wall where Marcus was helping to clean and lubricate the rifle of a young woman whom he had brought up the hill. “That Marcus kid is asking for the same thing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think Buck has a few buckets of ice and a keg of beer out there.” He took a deep breath, then sighed. “Okay, if the Doctor says you two can go, you can go.”
I immediately looked around for Pepper. I didn’t want her to know I was going back outside the walls, but I knew I’d have to tell her, preferably right before I drove off. She had disappeared from the courtyard, so I gathered up Marcus and we went to see Doctor Tashnizi. Yeah, I knew he was a drunk, but I also knew Sharon would never sign off on us going back to our team. We spent two minutes with Tashnizi, and he waved us out of his room with his approval.
Marcus and I slipped down to the armory and signed out a case of .556 for our rifles and two more of of .308 belts for the M-240, then we quickly whisked them up the ramp and onto the back of one of our four wheelers. I started to swing my leg over the gas tank, but Marcus pulled me back.
“I ain’t riding bitch behind you, Virgil.”
I shrugged. “But why? You have the body for it.”
He took a playful swipe that barely caught my shoulder. I fired one back and landed it to his shoulder. I regretted it almost immediately as the movement of my torso aggravated the pain in my ribs.
“Hey,” he complained with a smile. “That hurt, kid. You sure you’re only sixteen? You hit like a pile driver.”
“Not my fault. Pops has been teaching me to box since I was six years old. We even did a few Golden Gloves bouts in Fresno and Visalia.”
He rubbed his shoulder again. “Shoot! That’s the kind of information I need to have before you let me get myself in trouble.” He changed the subject. “You ready to go?”
I signaled my readiness, and we settled the issue of who would ride behind whom with a quick round of ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors.’ He lost. I gunned the little vehicle around to the back gate and stopped when I saw Pepper standing there with her arms crossed over her chest. It took me ten minutes to get her settled down and convinced I was in no danger since all the activity now seemed to be happening to the south of us.
While we were talking, Marcus slipped away to the kitchens and came back with five large paper plates topped with aluminum foil and strapped together with a big rubber band. “Hot chow for us and the troops,” he explained while strapping the collection of paper and foil to the back bumper with a flat bungee cord. Once done he hopped back on the four-wheeler and I gunned the engine. Pepper was mad, but she still waved and tried to conceal her brimming eyes.
Marcus called Buck and let him know we were coming and told him to get George and Jaime ready to head out. They were standing there waiting with their gear when we crested the last hill leading into the little valley. We handed off the hot food to a small chorus of applause and cheers which muted a bit when they discovered we had forgotten to bring eating utensils. I made sure George knew to swing by the fuel island and fill up the little vehicle on their way back. When their engine sounds had finally faded away over the hill, I grabbed my plate and joined the others, using my knife and fingers to scoop up the food.
We had just about finished our meal when the radio buzzed, and Dwayne’s voice advised us that the enemy were recovering the bodies of the enemy infiltration team. He further informed us that the second infiltration team, the one on the southern side of Dragon’s Lair, was still picking its way slowly forward. I allowed myself a single spark of worry for Pops but then tucked it all away in my mind. What would happen, would happen, plain and simple. Fretting about him would render me less effective as a fighter and would do nothing to make my father safer, so I finished supper and hiked back up the hill to my foxhole. I was grateful that the man I had killed had been dragged away from the area, but disappointed that the pale aroma of blood was still present.
The early evening passed, and we got the heads-up via radio that a pack of Ragers were headed our way. I readied the machinegun and warmed up the electronic sights. The thermal imagers showed me the location of dozens of wild bunnies and a single hunting coyote, plus the flashing fireflies of my team.
After darkness was entirely upon us, I saw the white silhouettes of approximately twenty of the shambling infected coming over one of the small knolls to our north.
Buck’s voice came over the radio. “Virgil, save the M-240 ammo, we’ll handle these…people.”
I put my weapon back on safety and switched the sight to infra-red. In this mode, I could see more details of our imminent targets. I was struck by how sickly they all appeared. In the early days of the plague, the Ragers were energetic, almost frantic in their actions. These people slogged along as if they could barely lift their feet. They staggered forward like they were exhausted. As I watched them in my green-tinged viewfinder I saw one of them, a man in his fifties, stumble and fall. Instead of regaining his feet, the man just flopped onto his back and lay there staring up at the night sky.
The cracks of rifle shots from my team sounded from below. I watched as the first three infected fell, then turned my sights off. I had no desire to continue watching the extermination of these sad and sickened people. I knew we were doing what we needed to do in order to reestablish civilization in the Clovis area, but it was not a task that I relished. It was a miserable and depressing necessity.
Three minutes later it was over.
I pulled a water bottle from my pack and swallowed half of it, trying to shake the unpleasant emotions I was feeling, then powered up my sights again and switched back to thermal mode. Nothing was moving below except drifting gun smoke and the feeble movements of some of the dying Ragers. Through the thermal sights I could see that the bodies of the horde were already cooling, their stark white silhouettes fading.
“Team two, team two, acknowledge.” The voice over the walkie was Pepper’s. She was calling the team of which Pops was a member.
“Team two…go,” Emma’s voice responded.
“Team two, be advised your rats are withdrawing. React code three.”
My spirit lifted somewhat upon hearing that the infiltrators who were closing in on Pops’ team were withdrawing. From my original briefing, I knew ‘code three’ meant their team was to stay on station until the drones could establish that the enemy was not going to attempt another incursion in their area.
“Understood,” Emma replied.
Pepper’s voice came back over my handset. “Team one, do you copy?”
“Go for one,” Buck answered her.
“Team one, be advised it appears your action has aroused the notice of a large horde that was migrating north on Academy. The noise of your shootout has drawn them towards your position. Can you handle?”
There was a pause as Buck considered the situation. “Do you have a number?”
“Team one…a lot. At least three hundred, maybe four. We first saw them about ten minutes ago coming through the fields and empty lots leading away from Clovis. They hit Academy Avenue and started heading north then they must have heard your gunshots.” Pepper’s voice evidenced a bit of worry. “We’re working on a more accurate count, but they took us by surprise. Because of the distance from the horde to your location, we thought they would continue down the road. Evidently, they hear better
than we previously thought.”
“Okay, I know the situation up top,” Buck replied. “Do us a favor and have a response team on active standby in case this thing goes south. We’ll try to manage it on our own. Just make certain the response team is fully equipped and on station near a vehicle so they can get out here fast if needed.”
Buck seemed nervous about the size of the horde. He also knew that it was imperative to keep as many people on station back at the stronghold. With one enemy infiltration team dead and the other being withdrawn it was fairly obvious that the main attack when it came, would be from the west. The paved two-mile long road that had cost Pops so much to install would now be working against us. The enemy could use it to quickly advance on Dragon’s Lair, both in vehicles and on foot. I didn’t know much about warfare, but I figured that the ability to attack quickly was an advantage in any conflict. Since we had denied the enemy the ability to come at us from multiple points, it was clear that they would now be forced to commit to a full-on frontal assault.
It was going to be ugly.
I now found myself wishing I had kept my mouth shut about rejoining my team. When the main attack came, I wanted to be at the stronghold with Pops and Pepper. I would have enjoyed having the time to ponder the situation more thoroughly, but the thermal signature in my sights was now glowing with multiple white silhouettes.
I thumbed the transmit button on my walkie. “Team one; heads up. They’re here.”
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Virgil's War- The Diseased World Page 40
