by John O'Brien
I debate walking up to the bend in the road but decide to drive for a couple of reasons. Driving will give me a certain amount of protection in case I am fired on plus it will give anyone at the checkpoint notice that someone is coming, giving them time to think rather than react as they might if I just materialized on the road. There is another factor — If humans are at the gate, they know anyone driving is as well. I am quite sure these “things” aren’t just driving around in the middle of the day and so, hopefully, it will give notice to anyone there that I am quite human. I can’t label whatever these “things” are. To me, there is human, these “things”, and the dead.
I pull the gate the rest of the way open, walk back to the Jeep, and put away the tools. Climbing back in, I start slowly up the road keeping to the middle. As I drive forward, more of the road that was hidden by the bend appears and I see bodies lying both on the road and alongside it. Warily, I drive to the bend and stop before reaching the first body. The road continues to a set of checkpoints similar to double-sized toll booths that are connected together by a single, overhead roof; the inbound lanes split into several ones; each to a booth. The traffic barricades are down in the lanes. One lane curves off to the right to a visitor center with a small parking lot in front. There is an exit lane passing by the security point but it is blocked by a Humvee. I see the silhouettes of more Humvees parked behind the booths.
A few bodies lie on the ground; from here all of the way up to the checkpoint and scattered throughout the area. I look for any sign of movement but see nothing but the tip of the trees bending in the breeze. With the engine running, I step out slowly and take another step or two away from the Jeep with my arms raised fully expecting a call from a bullhorn, a warning shot, something. Nothing. Keeping my arms up, I step next to the first body noticing several bullet wounds in the chest, abdomen, and legs. The skin has turned that reddish color. Putting my arms down, I survey the area for a few moments before heading back to the Jeep.
Climbing in, I drive slowly toward the checkpoint weaving slightly to avoid the bodies, each one with a sunburned look. All of them have bullet wounds of some sort; some whole, others with a limb or face or most of a head missing. I can feel my stomach clinch as I approach. Parking about twenty feet from the booths, I notice a black boot sticking out of one of the booth doors with the toes pointed skyward. My vision past the checkpoint is blocked by the Humvees parked lengthwise across the road. I step out into the shadow of the booths cast by a sun still low in the sky and notice just a hint of an odor in the air; like the beginning of milk souring.
Still not knowing what to expect or if there are any security personnel about, I leave my gun holstered. An armed person with a weapon ready will bring about a supersonic, steel-core bee quicker than one without a weapon in hand. I haven’t been stung to this point and am looking to keep it that way. Edging slowly in a circular fashion up to the booth with the boot sticking out, I notice shell casings on the ground around the booth and behind it. Reaching the open door and stepping up to the opening, my heart jumps up a notch at the same time as a twist of nausea grips my stomach.
Lying before me, stretched across the booth, is what must have been one of the base security personnel. It is absolutely unidentifiable as to what gender it once was. The pants and left shirt sleeve are completely shredded revealing devastation beneath. The skin and most tissue have been removed from the arms, legs, and face leaving behind only bits of tissue, tendons, and dried blood still clinging to the bone. Dried blood lays everywhere with shell casings littering the floor. The right arm, from the elbow down, lies close to the body with the still intact portion of the sleeve surrounding it; the hand still gripping a Beretta 9mm pistol with the slide back and locked open signaling an empty chamber and magazine. The right leg is completely missing from the knee down. The only intact portion of uniform is a combat vest still attached to the torso and the boot pointing skyward at my feet. Small bits of intestines and organs poke out between the pelvic bones.
What a mess, I think and notice the stock and lower half of an M-4 poking out from under a small desk. Hmmm, that will come in handy as will the combat vest but removing the vest won’t be pretty.
I step away from the door, duck under the barricade, and edge to the rear of the booth toward the Humvees. The ground behind the booths is covered with shell casings to the point where there isn’t really much pavement to be seen below them. Four Humvees have been parked front to back across the lanes with driver sides toward me and open and machine guns on top angled skyward. I walk to the front of one and look further into the base. The scene before me transfixes in my mind.
The ground is littered with bodies. Bodies are piled upon each other forming walls and mounds in places right up to the Humvees themselves. Some lie singly between mounds, the bodies decreasing in number the farther away I look. Holy shit; there are easily over a hundred of them. Maybe hundreds. I guess I know where that smell is coming from, I think looking around for any sign of movement or any form of mankind. Nothing greets me but a multitude of crows hopping on the ground amongst the bodies.
I walk along the line of Humvees, looking inside each one. More shell casings lie thick on the floors of each one with dried blood spattered throughout; reminiscent of the security booth. I do a quick check inside each to see if the mounted guns have any ammo left. No luck. I do find an ammo can sitting in the driver side floorboard of the second Humvee. Opening it up, I see it is about half full of 5.56mm rounds. I pull it out and follow along the line. Coming to the last Humvee, I reach into the driver’s compartment, and turn the start switch to the right. A moment later, the orange light comes on letting me know the glow plugs are warm. Very nice, the battery still works. I jump in, set the ammo can in the floor next to me, and turn the starter switch over. The engine cranks over and comes to life after a few revolutions. Way cool. Looking at the gauges, everything seems to be working fine and plenty of fuel. I close the door and do that wonderful three-point turn a few times until I can steer clear of the other vehicles. I drive the Humvee up over the curb and grass, park beside the Jeep and shut it down. I look and listen to see if my antics have drawn any attention. One more thing to do, I think sighing heavily and not looking forward to it.
I walk back to the booth and step inside trying my best to ignore the carnage within. I reach down, grab the black, plastic M-4 stock, and pull it to me. The bolt is back. I remove the magazine and find it empty as suspected. I slide the magazine back in and bend down to the separated arm and hand to pick up the pistol but the hand doesn’t want to let go just yet. I am able to pry the forefinger out of the trigger guard. I then look to the combat vest still secured to the body and see a couple of magazines poking out of their compartments. I take the carbine and pistol out and look on the ground beside the Humvees. Ah, there we go, I think strolling over to them. Several empty magazines lie on the ground by the front wheels. I should have noticed that before.
Gathering everything up, I walk to the front and set everything in the passenger side of the Humvee. Oh crap, I have to get back to the kids, I think closing the passenger door. Otherwise, I may find they have actually driven back to the house. Looking at my watch, I see 0820. I have been here about twenty minutes. Time to get back and then finish up here. I drive the Jeep back to the gate and see them standing on the side of the road as I round the bend. I wanted to bring the Humvee just to see the expressions on their faces but I could also see them jumping in the car and taking off thinking security forces were approaching. That would be great fun; chasing them all of the way back to the house and starting the trek over.
“There’s no one manning the gates,” I tell them after arriving back. “I parked a Humvee at the gate and we can transfer the stuff from the car into it and drive that instead.”
“Do I get to drive it?” Robert asks with a not too well concealed grin.
“No, I’ll drive it and you take the Jeep,” I answer as he hangs his head in mock disappointment
. Well, he pretends the mock part but I know he really does want to drive it.
“Let’s head up as before. Watch the road, there are some bodies lying on it but you can maneuver around them.”
We get back into our vehicles and proceed through the gate slowly park where I had before. “Dad, there’s other ones we can drive,” Robert says nodding over to the parked Humvees.
“What!? And leave my Jeep just sitting here. I don’t think so,” I reply and take a step toward the booths.
“But,” he starts but stops immediately as my head whips around toward him, not completing the rest of his sentence. “Okay, Dad.”
“You guys unload the stuff in the Honda into the back of the Humvee. I’ll be right back.”
Back at the booth with the corpse lying in it, I step inside. I don’t really want to go through with this and consider leaving the vest there, but it will come in handy. If this were a fighter base or I had time to find the security detachment building, I could easily find another, but you take what you can get. I bend down by the side of the body and keep my eyes focused on the vest as much as possible. This is not going to be easy to get off just by pulling the arms through so I take my folding blade out and snap it open. The upper arms are being held onto the shoulder by tendons, the muscle structure, and skin in back. I pull the left socket bone away and slice my knife through the tissue setting the arm bones away from the body. I do the same to the right side with my stomach doing flips. I undo the front clasps and lay the right vest front out on the floor, grab hold of the left side, and pull. The body rolls over to the right as I lift and pull. The head stays in place for most of the way and then starts following the body before bending backward with the back of the head almost touching the back. The body flips over and the vest comes free, the head flips forward and comes to a rest looking over the left shoulder. I scramble out and upend my breakfast behind the booth.
“Alright, fuck it,” I address the group coming back around to the front. All heads turn from loading the last of the gear. “Robert, go get the Humvee on the right. If you can manage to get it over here without hitting a building, running over any of us, or hitting any wildlife, you can drive it to the flight line.”
“Yeah!” Robert says with his eyes lighting up and he starts fast walking over to get it.
“Wait,” I say before he gets very far. “Come here. I’ll show you how to start it.” I see some confusion in his eyes trying to judge whether I am joking or not. “It’s a diesel and they start differently.”
Throwing the vest onto the passenger seat, I show him the start switch and light, explaining to him that diesels don’t have spark plugs but glow plugs and they need to heat up. “The orange light here tells you when the plug is warm and you can crank it,” I tell him finishing with the mini diesel lesson.
He walks behind the booths and disappears. I hear an engine crank up a short time later and see the rear of the Humvee emerge from behind the checkpoint as he backs up slowly. He then turns down the lane to the visitor center, through the parking lot, and catches the lanes back by the bend in the road to where we are. I sigh heavily, part of it from that he didn’t hit anything, part of it knowing that my Jeep and I will soon part company, and another from thinking that some things are just ingrained in our mind. We are going to have to all start thinking outside some of the civilization we are apparently now leaving behind.
“You could have just driven over the curb there,” I say upon his return from his extended scenic road trip and nod to where I had driven over it earlier.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess I could have.”
I can tell there is a bit of glee in his eyes that he had just driven, and was going to drive, a Humvee. Some pride and some chest puffiness as well. I see he wants Michelle to be impressed.
We finish loading the gear. I drive the Jeep to the visitor center and park it in an empty parking spot. No, I didn’t go over any curbs. This is my Jeep after all. I make sure I have my cell phone, the battery powered charger for it, and look around to see if we have everything. Ugh, I think, the kids left the tool box here so I grab it out of the back. Setting the tool box on the ground, I climb back in for a moment.
“See you later my friend,” I say softly patting the top of the dash. “I’ll be back.”
Climbing out, I grab the toolbox and put the keys in my zippered sleeve pocket. With the sun starting to warm the air, I start back to the checkpoint.
Back at the Humvees, I grab the 5.56mm magazines. “Here, you can help me load these,” I say handing each of them a magazine. Unloading the ammo can, I set it on the ground. “29 to a magazine and here’s how you do it.” They gather around and we load up the 8 magazines I found.
“Ok, let’s move out. We have a lot to do and the day is moving on. I doubt we’ll be able to get out of here today. Bri, I want…”
“Why aren’t we leaving today?” Robert interrupts.
“A couple of reasons. First, we need to plan our legs around flying and arriving during the day if at all possible. That way, we can fuel up when we get to our destination. Secondly, I want the flight to be during the day in case we have a problem and have to land. I’m not certain any airport lighting or nav aids are working so I need to be able to find the airport and land in daylight. Plus, we have to flight plan yet and I have to learn the new aircraft so I’ll have to go through the manuals and checklists, if we can find them, and take it up for a spin to get used to flying it,” I explain.
“Now, if Robert is done interrupting, Bri and Nic, you are with me. Robert and Michelle, you take the second Humvee. Follow a little behind. If we meet anyone and have to stop, you park a short distance away. Be ready to turn around and get the hell out of here if anything goes wrong. Ready?”
They all nod and we board the Humvees. Nicole is in front with me and Bri is in the back seat. We start up and head around the checkpoint. Passing by the other parked Humvees, I do my best to maneuver through the piles of bodies but unable to avoid all them, we ride over some like driving over a speed bump; only, these speed bumps have a little give to them. The bodies eventually decrease in number the farther away from the checkpoint we get until I can maneuver without running over any more “speed bumps.”
I continue driving slowly further into the base and toward the morning sun with Robert about twenty five yards behind. We pass by a golf course to our left and buildings begin to appear on either side of us. I am constantly looking around for any sign of life but am only met by the occasional bird crossing the road ahead of us or riding the air currents above us. It’s like driving through a ghost town. There are no cars on the streets or people walking the sidewalks. No one is standing outside a building taking a smoke break or running errands. The building windows stare back as if in a surrealistic dream. I take a left onto another major road knowing the flight line lies to the north end of the base. Buildings continue along the road with their large brown signs outside denoting what unit or service they housed. A three story building appears to our left, set back from the road with a large parking lot and open fields surrounding it. The signpost outside reads “McChordAFBHospital.”
I pull to a stop at the road entrance staring at the structure. There are several cars in the parking lot, more than I have seen at any of the buildings. That’s to be expected though and keeps with the general trend I noticed on the way up and the assumptions I made.
“What are you doing, Dad?” Bri asks from the back seat.
“Thinking.”
I want to go inside and check things out for a couple of reasons. The first is there are medical supplies we could use in there and the second is that I figure if anyone has some idea of what happened or some information on these things, it would be a military hospital. There must be some sort of report floating around there, I think with only the idling motor keeping my thoughts company. I would guess with the hospital administrator. Maybe even some information on bases overseas although it may only be reports from other Air Force bases and u
nits. I am really only interested in Army units though and truly only one in particular. But any information on what we are dealing with would be beneficial. I sit contemplating the risks and time involved versus information. The seconds on my watch tick slowly by as thoughts and plans streak through my mind. Finally deciding, I put the Humvee into drive and turn left into the hospital and look in the rearview to see Robert following.
Pulling around to the emergency entrance on the south side, I park a short distance from the doors. The first four rows of parking places are filled with cars and trucks as was the parking lot of the main entrance. Not as packed as the civilian hospitals, no traffic jams, but still busier than any of the other buildings. An ambulance is parked under the covered drop off by the entrance doors with its back doors open. I get out and head around to the back watching Robert and Michelle exit their vehicle and hear the doors shut from the other side of mine indicating Nicole and Bri have exited as well.
“What are we doing here?” Robert asks.
“Medical supplies and hopefully some info on what we’re dealing with,” I answer pulling the combat vest out, the dried blood almost blending in with the camouflage. Putting the vest on, I adjust the straps for a more comfortable fit. I slip magazines into pouches as Robert asks, “So, what’s our plan?”
“You all stay here. I’m going in alone.”
The amount of cars in the lots indicates that there are a few people inside; either alive, dead, or one of those transformed things. I don’t want to have to worry about them in a larger building like this.
“I’m not going in far and I won’t be long,” I say.
Finishing with the magazines, I duct tape the cylindrical flashlight to the left side of the M-4 as near to barrel alignment as I can and make a mental note that the center of the light is a couple of inches off to the left of where any bullet will strike. I test the light to assure myself of its brightness and put the tape roll on my left wrist again. Sliding a magazine into the lower receiver, I flip the bolt release and thumb the selector to ‘safe.’ I glance at my watch and note the time.
