Z-Day (Book 3): A Place For War

by Humphreys, Daniel

  The bow gunner opened up with the GAU-17 minigun. It took everything Coop had not to pump his fist and cheer as the line of zulu approaching from the east disintegrated and toppled. The deep, mechanical whir of thousands of rounds per minute had its own drawback, though—the horde still on the shore turned almost frantic at the stimulus, packing tight and shoving forward toward them.

  A spear lofted from somewhere in the crowd and landed well short in the water, but it was a sign that enhanced infected were among the group. “Just a cherry on top of a shit sundae,” he murmured, firing three times at the north shore of the island. The fallen bodies of the first wave had split the island zulus. The .50 gunner twisted the gun back and forth between the groups, keeping his bursts short. The bigger guns were a hell of a lot more effective than the Marines’ personal weapons, but they weren’t carrying an unlimited supply of ammo, either.

  The boat lurched forward, scraping along the tree for a few feet, then hung up again. Coop turned back to the north and blinked as he realized that Sullivan was still standing in the muck. “Move your ass, Private!”

  “Trying, Sergeant,” the other man managed through clenched teeth. “This stuff’s like glue.” He took a step forward, and muck encapsulated the boot that briefly poked above the surface of the water.

  His eyes snapped back to the north approach. Several zulus were in the water, and they were a hell of a lot closer to the overboard Marine than they were the boat. The damn things seemed to know it, too, and while the sucking murk slowed them down just as much, they made an inexorable approach to his stuck man.

  Coop moved back to the gunner and slapped him on the shoulder. “Keep on the south—we’ve got the north! I don’t want any blue on blue.” He turned and called over his shoulder as the minigun opened up front again, shredding another block. The weapon was damnably effective, but they had to be getting short on rounds—the seaman had kept this burst much shorter than the first. “Gray, Stahlberg, on me! Cover fire!”

  Sullivan advanced another step—he was maybe ten feet from the boat, now, but it might as well have been ten miles given his glacial progress. Coop fired twice, and the head of the closest zulu shattered, sending the thing into the river. Then Stahlberg and Grey were there, adding the fire from their own rifles. Two of the approaching figures, then a third, collapsed into the water, but then Coop had to blink as a crowd rushed out from the beach. How the hell many people were on this damn island?

  The volume of fire from the three riflemen reached a critical mass. Dumping a spent mag, Coop called out to Sullivan, “No rush, Marine, but shit’s getting a little serious, here.”

  The PFC glanced over his shoulder with an almost nonchalant air and plucked his Beretta from the holster at his hip. The report of the 9mm rounds were mild pops amongst the heavy machine guns, but by the time the slide locked back on an empty magazine he’d sent no fewer than half-a-dozen zulus to their permanent end.

  “Stop showing off and move your ass!”

  Sullivan took another step and sunk into the water up to his chest. Out of the muck, he moved much more easily now, and once he reached the side of the boat, the other three Marines hauled him out of the water.

  Breathing heavily, the PFC managed, “Sorry, Sergeant. Lost my rifle when I went overboard.”

  Coop wanted to scream, laugh, or shake his head, but he settled for, “We’ll let it slide this time, Sully.”

  The diesels roared, and the boat jolted once, twice, then settled into a steadier movement as they cleared the branches, or whatever, that had been keeping them in place. The minigun roared again, whittling at the lead edge of the eastern horde as the craft shot toward them. The burst ended, ammunition spent, after no more than a few seconds. Ears ringing, all Coop could hear was the rumble of the diesels and the scraping noise of the hull against the bark of the tree. Then, all at once, the scraping noise ended, and the PO yanked the wheel over, hard. Holding on for dear life, the Marines whooped as the boat entered deeper water. The PO didn’t let up on the throttle until they were back into the merged channel, and even then, he kept them heading south at a much faster pace than they’d taken on the way north. They might have been safe, but Coop could appreciate the sentiment. He didn’t feel like sitting still right about now.

  Letting his legs buckle, he plopped down on the deck in the midst of a sea of brass. After he took a deep, shaking breath, he glanced at the PO and said, “Thinking we need to let the engineers dredge out that eastern channel.”

  The PO laughed, more than a little hysteria in his tone. “Probably need to hit that island with an air strike, too, you think?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  March 8, 2018

  Outside of Ironton, Missouri

  Z-Day + 141

  The no-kidding zombie apocalypse hadn’t been enough to drive the various survivors in the safe zone to cooperate and share resources. The visit from their heavily-armed neighbors changed that equation entirely.

  Molly had helped Dave set up some tables and chairs in one of the empty greenhouses. It turned out to be the largest available empty building in the area, and after some negotiations back and forth, he’d offered to host the meeting. When she’d asked why he’d been willing to do that, Dave winked and gave her a knowing smile.

  “Well, for one, it’s a different situation than it’d be if I asked them into the house. The Daytons and Whipkers are good people. I’ll be damned if I let Bob Chandler roam around inspecting my pantry and medicine cabinets.”

  Even with that admission, Dave hadn’t put his entire measure of trust in his neighbors. He openly displayed his pistol, strapped into a holster on his hip, and Anne carried the revolver Molly had recovered from their first house. Her holster was a little rougher, the fruits of a winter project, but the implied message to their guests should be obvious.

  When she’d helped Dave set up the meeting space, Molly had thought it far too large for their needs. With two more families and Chandler packed inside, the spacing was tight enough to rouse nervous butterflies in her stomach. Crowds had never bothered her, but the atmosphere inside the greenhouse didn’t help. The adults in the center of the room were dead serious, and the various kids and hangers-on alternated between ignoring the adults and fidgeting.

  Pounding a fist into his palm, Bob Chandler stalked a path in front of the card table where the heads of the three families sat. “It’s obvious that these guys are a threat. We need to work together and do something about it. All of us together can handle the situation.” A tight winter had diminished the strange man’s beer gut, but his beard had grown even more ridiculous.

  On the bright side, he hadn’t had the opportunity to leer at Molly since he’d begun his speech.

  She’d thought Dave would be the first to come back, but Brent Whipker shook his head furiously before Bob wrapped up his appeal. “With what, Bob? I’m a farmer, not a soldier. What weapons do you propose we use against a larger group with more experience and firepower?”

  “I’ve got enough to share with a few of you,” Bob said. “I looked around at some of the empty houses this winter, but someone cleared them out already. Don’t suppose any of you know anything about that?” Molly tried not to smile; Dave, to his credit, remained expressionless. Chandler waited, received no answer, then threw his hands up. “There’s only six of them!”

  “Not even close,” Dave said, his tone firm.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Dave shrugged. “I checked out their camp. I didn’t get close enough for an accurate headcount, but there are at least two dozen of them, which changes the equation.”

  “When was this?” Bob sounded suspicious. “How do we know you’re not making this up?”

  Anne scoffed, began to speak, but Dave put his hand on her own to urge her to remain silent. “What reason would I have to lie, Bob?”

  “How the hell should I know? Maybe you cut a deal with them.”

  Dave let out a short bark of laught
er. “I guess that explains the bags of potatoes and seed corn they want me to plant for them. Stop being paranoid.”

  Brent Whipker interjected, “When did you go up there, Dave?”

  “A little more than a week after things went to hell. We saw lights up on the mountain, and I hiked up to check it out. I figured the best choice was to leave well enough alone.”

  The other man scoffed. “And you didn’t think to tell the rest of us about it?”

  At the end of the table, Mark Dayton raised his hand. “He told me about it back around Thanksgiving.”

  “Same question to you, then!”

  “For God’s sake, Brent, I traded the man some goats and it came up in conversation. Maybe if you weren’t so interested in every man for himself and forting up in your house Dave might have told you, too.”

  “Got nothing to do with that,” Dave shrugged. “You don’t have anything I’m interested in trading for, Brent, so I’ve got no reason to bother you and yours. You made your position quite clear back in October.”

  The other man’s face turned red, but the woman sitting next to him leaned forward and said, “That’s all water under the bridge at this point. What are we going to do about the Army guys up on the mountain?” Stella Whipker looked at each of the other adults in turn.

  “They’re not Army,” Dave said. “They’re a private military contractor. Well-armed wannabes, but they’re still wannabes.”

  “Whatever,” Stella said.

  Dave cocked his head to one side, looking thoughtful. “Personally? I say we should cooperate with them, at least for the time being. If something changes, we reconsider at that point.”

  Bob Chandler scoffed. “You fucking pussy.”

  Dave turned and stared at the other man. Molly couldn’t see the expression on his face, but whatever the look was it shocked Chandler to such an extent that he went pale.

  “I’m going to say this one time, you horse’s ass. I was knee-deep in the shit before you were a gleam in your daddy’s eye. I’ll put up with your attitude out of sheer hospitality, but don’t take the impression that my patience is infinite. If you can’t keep a civil tongue, get the hell off of my property and don’t come back.”

  “I just think …”

  “No, you haven’t, and that’s the problem. We’ve got seven adults and five, maybe six teenagers old enough to fight. In the best-case scenario, we’re outnumbered at least two-to-one. If we were defending, we might stand a chance, but you want to assault an elevated position against a force superior in both arms and manpower. That’s a recipe for disaster, son. If you want to try it, feel free, but none of my people are interested.” He looked at the Daytons and Whipkers in turn. “I’d recommend you refrain from joining in Mr. Chandler’s misguided crusade, but I’ve got no power over any of you. Do what you want.”

  Mark Dayton’s wife, Alyssa, had remained silent up until this point, but as soon as Dave threw up his hands in frustration, she commented, “It doesn’t sound like you’re giving up, Dave. Can you maybe let us in on what you’re thinking?”

  He sighed. “The biggest problem is, we don’t have all the information. When I first scouted their camp, I’d hoped that they might move on at some point. If they’re wanting us to grow crops for them, that looks less likely. If they’re here for the duration, we need to observe their movements. What routes do they take off of the mountain? What’s their security situation? Basically, we need to stall for time.”

  Brent shook his head, looking dubious. “What does time get us?”

  “Well, not to be pedantic, but time gets us time. Time to train. Time to get a handle on their procedures. Time to find more weapons, out …” He waved a hand vaguely toward town. “There.”

  Mark shook his head. “Going into town? Sounds like suicide, to me.”

  Dave grinned crookedly, then pointed toward Molly. “She’s done it. Maybe I’ll put her in charge.”

  She blushed as all the adults and not a few of the older kids turned to look in her direction. Molly gave Dave a dirty look, but he just shrugged and laughed.

  Stella raised her hand, drawing the attention of the group back to her. Molly gave her a thankful smile as the older woman spoke. “We’ve got the benefit of time, if nothing else, until harvest, correct? I agree with Dave. And, not to be rude, but you’ve got more experience than any of us here.” She pointedly didn’t look at Bob Chandler. “I’d like you to coordinate things. Does anyone else agree?”

  The rest of the adults save for Chandler chorused various voices of assent, and after a moment, so did the lone holdout. “What’s the plan, Sarge?” Bob said sarcastically.

  If it bothered Dave, he didn’t let on. Instead, he leaned forward and began. “Well, it seems to me that the first thing we need to do …”

  It didn’t occur to Molly until later, lying in bed, that no one had thought to ask why Dave hadn’t gone into town instead of her. Her relief at that realization kept her awake well into the night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  May 24, 2026

  Frederiksted, US Virgin Islands

  Z-Day + 3,140

  His uncle was raring to go, but Pete’s enthusiasm was still subordinate to the availability of the fleet. The next boat departing for Galveston wasn’t scheduled to leave until three days after they returned to St. Croix. They spent their time as well as possible, but things were tense. For all the aura of vacation their surroundings gave them, they had a very real sense of dancing in the face of an impending storm.

  Miles did his best to put on a happy face for his daughter. Trina was a sharp kid—she’d grown up in a world where death was far more common than that of her parents—so she knew something was coming. She also saw the attitudes that Miles and Tish adopted and threw herself into enjoying the compressed getaway.

  The strangest aspect of it all, for Miles, was how little things really changed in a different environment. Ever since he’d gained a family of his own, he’d carried a constant underlying concern about their well-being. He’d thought he’d never again feel the terror he’d experienced when Trina and some of her friends were stuck outside in the midst of a zombie horde. The day she slipped out of his grasp and slipped under the surface of the crystal-blue Caribbean proved that thought to be naive. Undead or not, a parent’s lot in life was one of worry, and that wasn’t likely to change.

  All these things ran through his head as he stood over the folding cot under the window of their hotel room. The barest hint of the morning sun brightened the curtains, but the soft glow of a table lamp sufficed to illuminate the relaxed face of his sleeping daughter. She slept with the totality of a child’s exhaustion. He envied that—he’d slept in fits and starts since they’d returned to Genesis Cay, dreading what was to come.

  Trina, though, made it all worth it. If I fail at everything else in my life, I will have at least accomplished this.

  He turned to look at Tish. His wife looked as exhausted as he felt, but she was still every bit as beautiful as the little girl he’d crushed on when they were both not much older than Trina was now.

  “Here we go again,” she said.

  Miles tried to force a smile, but he didn’t have it in him. “I’m sorry. If there were any other way—”

  She raised a hand to silence him. “Don’t. If you’re the only one that can do this—” Tish took a deep, shuddering breath. “You are literally going to save the world. I’d have to be crazy to throw a tantrum, right?”

  He crossed the room in two steps and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m saving you two, not everyone else.”

  She leaned back from the hug and laughed. “God, you’re cheesy.”

  “That’s why you married me, right?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  He grinned. “I suppose it could be my dashing good looks and survival skills, but who knows? I’m the total package, really.”

  “Need to work on the humility, though.”

  “Nobody’s perfect.”
He held her close until he didn’t think he’d be able to let her go if he continued. “I feel bad for not telling her goodbye.”

  “She’ll understand. Let her sleep.”

  He kissed her then, before pulling away and taking an awkward step toward the door. That was not a goodbye kiss. This is an “I’ll see you soon” kiss.

  He could almost convince himself that wasn’t a lie.

  “Come home to me,” she said. “We’ll be waiting.”

  “I will,” he said. That didn’t seem enough, and he started to say more, but she reached out and put a finger on his lips.

  “I know.”

  He held down the laughter that threatened to bubble up and overtake him. “All the ways to go, and you go with Empire Strikes Back?”

  “This is the person you’ve made me, what can I say? I love you.”

  “I love you more.”

  May 24, 2026

  Frederiksted, US Virgin Islands

  Z-Day + 3,140

  “I want to go with you,” Patrick said. “I promise I won’t be scared.”

  “I know you wouldn’t be,” Sandy assured his son. “But I need someone to take care of your mom and Uncle Jason while I’m gone. Do you think you can do that for me?”

  “I guess.”

  Sandy looked up at Kendra. She smiled a bit and shook her head. She knew as well as he did that when it came to protecting, she’d do fine without him. He’d made up a lot of ground, these last few years, but he still marveled at how the incompetent naïf he used to be had survived for so long.

  He stood, his knees cracking, and extended a hand. “Shake on it, young sir.”

  Patrick grinned and pumped his hand up and down. “It’s settled.”

  “It is,” Sandy replied. “Now get back in bed, you maniac.”

  Their son scrambled back under the covers, making a tent over his head. Two wide eyes looked out until Sandy raised an eyebrow and pointed at his own eye. “Okay, okay.” Patrick flipped the blankets off his head and rolled onto his side. “Going to sleep.”