Apex Predator

by Glyn Gardner

  “Well kind of. We are part of the One-Hundred-Eighth Cavalry Louisiana National Guard. And we did come up here to try to stabilize the situation.”

  “Hey guys,” Theresa interrupted. “We’ve got to go. We’re drawing a crowd.”

  They could see twenty or so creatures in the parking lot they were in. The closest -only a few feet from the rear bumper of the SUV. Jen slammed the gear shifter into drive and gunned the engine. She turned on the lights at the same time. The lights illuminated even more ghouls coming from the direction of the highway. She turned the wheel hard to the right, towards the road, and out of the parking lot.

  “Get on the highway!” shouted SSgt Brown.

  “Which way?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t matter, that’s the PZ for a Blackhawk in a couple of hours.” Jen slowed as she weaved through the un-human traffic. As she neared the highway the traffic thinned. She drove up the off ramp. She stopped at the top, facing the wrong direction.

  “Now what do we do?”

  “Back up onto the overpass. These things can’t climb worth a damn.”

  She did as he told her. When she reached the center of the overpass, she turned off the engine, and the lights. SSgt Brown and Pvt. Jackson dismounted the vehicle, moving to separate sides of the bridge. They could see a pack of zombies moving under the overpass. SSgt Brown moved back to the vehicle, holding his finger to his lips.

  “Looks like they lost us,” he whispered. He pointed down, indicating the line of lost souls meandering below their feet. “If you want to get out, do it quietly.”

  The three civilians exited the Tahoe. Mike extended his hand to SSgt Brown.

  “Mike Davis,” he whispered.

  “Dave Brown,” replied the NCO. “That’s Private Jackson,” he said as the young trooper joined the little group.

  “So, how did you guys end up in the parking lot of a damned burger joint with a city full of zombies around you?” Jen and Theresa gathered around the soldiers.

  SSgt Brown told them everything that the troopers had seen over the past several days. He told them what he had learned from the Air Force intelligence officer. He told them of Pvt. Anderson and the school children. He choked up when he told them about that first day.

  Mike then told the story of the civilians. He told of the first zombie, then the crowd. He told of the police officers and of his neighbors valiant efforts to save each other. Jen hugged a crying Theresa when Mike told them about Davy, and finally about the gas station.

  No one in the group could sleep for the next few hours. Mike couldn’t help but feel they were sitting ducks on top of an overpass in the middle of a long highway. He climbed on top of the Tahoe to survey their surroundings. The moon was bright, and visibility was pretty good.

  Mike could see a large traffic jam in the west bound lanes, heading into Bossier from Monroe. He could count about 20 cars about 300 yards down the road. Several were in the median, two were rolled over, and an 18 wheeler was jack-knifed behind it all. He could swear he could see movement from inside the traffic jam. Na, he thought, must just be his imagination.

  To the south of his perch, he could see the air force base. He saw large, multi-engine aircraft on the tarmac. He recognized them as B-52’s. He could see lights moving back and forth along the flight line. Mike realized that he was looking at more activity than he’s seen in about a week. Something inside yearned to be on that base. He thought of the safety that comes with numbers. Then he thought about the fence. What he wouldn’t have given to have a good solid fence to surround their house with for the last week or so.

  He continued starring into that world, the world of safety and security. He thought about the cafeteria at the plant. He imagined that the Air Force Base must have a cafeteria or two with a couple cooks. Eggs, he was going to order about half-a-dozen over easy when he got there. And bacon, oh yes bacon, six or eight pieces of bacon with coffee.

  His thoughts were pulled from food by a sudden flurry of flashes. After each flash, he could barely make out a faint pop. The flashes and sounds were coming from a built up area just west of the flight line. It started out is a few maybe two or three at a time, then it picked up. For a moment Mike couldn’t figure out what he was seeing and hearing.

  “Gun fire,” SSgt Brown whispered. Mike hadn’t even realized that the soldier had joined him on the SUV.

  “I was just thinking how safe and secure we’ll be once we get on that base,” replied Mike after a moment.

  “No, just more secure than we are now.”

  “Yeah, kind of like how secure Davy Crockett was in the Alamo,” retorted Mike

  “More secure than the poor bastards outside the walls.”

  “Ok, point taken.”

  The two watched for several moments in silence.

  “So, how bad do you think this really is,” asked Mike

  “Me personally, I think this could become an extinction level event.” Mike couldn’t speak. Extinction, he’d never even thought of it like that.

  “You really think this could wipe out the human race?”

  “Think about it. A week ago, zombies were something in horror movies. Now, just about every human being on the plant knows they exist. This thing went from zero to everywhere in less than a week. Think about it in terms of population. This area has roughly 275,000 people, just over a quarter of a million. Your neighborhood has what maybe 1000 or so? How many people from your neighborhood have you seen in the past week are still alive today? I can count four. I’ll be generous, and say you guys represent 10 percent of the survivors of your neighborhood.”

  “That means 40 people out of 1000, or 4 percent of people survived one week in this new environment. Extrapolate that out. 4 times 275 is just over 1000. So, out of a population in the Shreveport Bossier area of about 275,000 alive at the beginning of this outbreak, there are probably something between 1000 and 1100 survivors today. That number is going to decrease as the number of zombies increase.”

  “There are reported outbreaks around the world. So, a world population closing on 7 billion people would leave us with 280 million scattered all over the planet. Every one of these things that turns, adds to their numbers, and takes from ours. So, how many humans will be left in another week? How many will be left by next month, or Christmas, or next year?”

  “How do you know all this? Are you some kind of scientist or something?

  “Kind of, I teach high school science as well as statistics at the college level.”

  “So according to you, we’re screwed. There is no hope for humanity?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” he replied. “I mean if nothing changes, then we are screwed. Think about what I was saying before. Every new zombie is a plus for them and a minus for us. First thing we need to do to keep this apex predator from reproducing. That means we need to work together in the interest of security. Second we need to decrease their numbers. They already outnumber us by now. We need to take back the numerical advantage. As long as they have numbers, they will eventually eat us out of existence.”

  “So, how do we do that?”

  “That is the million dollar question. How do we keep 280 million people scattered in small groups around the world, in an ocean of 6.8 billion zombies, alive. I’m thinking the first step is to band together. There is strength in numbers. The real question is how to do that. How many live people have you seen this week? How do you find more live people, while not getting yourself killed traipsing around through a zombie infested world?”

  Mike hung his head. A wave of hopelessness washed over him. He couldn’t believe he was actually contemplating the extinction of the human race. He sighed, trying to clear his head. He still had to worry about his family’s survival.

  He looked to the west towards Shreveport. The road was empty. The only thing he could see was a faint glow of thousands of street lights reflecting on the clouds gathering to the west. Although he couldn’t see anything, he was sure he could hear t
he collective moans of 200,000 zombies. He imagined he could see all of them walking up I-20 towards him. The thought sent a wave of terror through him.

  “So, you said you’re a school teacher,” asked Mike.

  “Yes. I’ve been one for 14 years.”

  “Really? How long you been in the guard?”

  “16 years. I joined to help pay for my last few years of school. Found I liked it. Although I’m a science teacher, I’ve been a military history buff. So, it just kind of made sense.”

  “You deploy much?”

  “We deployed to Iraq once, and got activated for Katrina. Other than that, we just did drill and annual training. How about you, what’s your story?”

  “I work for one of the local natural gas refineries, as a security guard. I’ve been there for about 6 years. I did a couple years of community college trying to get my criminal justice degree, never got around to finishing it. I grew up in Texas, where most of my family lives…or lived.”

  At that, they both became silent. Neither one had really given their families much thought lately. SSgt Brown thought about his wife and kids. He was almost certain that they were dead. He hoped they weren’t, but the truth of the matter was that once he saw Anderson turn on the school kids and their teacher, he had given up hope.

  Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop. They both turned south at the new sound. They both recognized the sound. Blackhawks, thought the pair. SSgt Brown looked at his watch: 0645. Right about on time, he thought, time to get ready. The girls and Jackson were gathered in front of the truck. SSgt Brown hopped off the hood of the SUV, followed by Mike.

  “Ok, folks, how many of you have ever ridden in and Army helicopter? First, all weapons remain pointed at the deck, that means down. If you shoot the engine we all crash and burn to death. Don’t do that. Second, wait outside the rotor arc until the crew chief tells you to come to the bird. When it’s time, follow me. Do not go near the tail boom. There’s a big propeller that will kill you if you run into it.”

  Mike climbed back onto the SUV. He could see two Blackhawk helicopters and an Apache lift off from the air base. The first Blackhawk rose high in the air, as did the Apache. The third helicopter flew low; making a bee line for the over pass the group was on. As it got closer, Mike looked around again.

  “Oh Shit,” he exclaimed. From the east he could see a mass of slow moving zombies moving towards the overpass. He looked at the Blackhawk. It wasn’t flying to the overpass. The pilot was setting the helicopter down west of the edge of the overpass, where there were no street lights. Damn, why didn’t someone think about the street lights?

  SSgt Brown tugged Mike’s pant leg. Mike looked down. The NCO was pointing in the direction of the bird, pumping his hand as if to say go. Mike jumped down, and followed the group, glancing back at the herd of zombies approaching from the opposite direction.

  Jen and Theresa stopped short of the big whirling propeller. SSgt Brown pushed them along as the crew chief franticly waved them in. The two civilians instinctively ducked as they ran underneath the propeller blades. The five mounted the helicopter from its left side, the crew chief helping the two girls climb into the cabin. SSgt Brown waited for Mike before mounting himself. He looked at the crew chief, giving him a grin and thumbs up.

  The whine of the engines and the popping of the propeller drown out Theresa’s scream. It wasn’t until the shotgun went off that everyone turned towards the right side of the aircraft. What they saw terrified them all. The right side door, like the left door, was locked in the open position prior to taking off.

  Three zombies were climbing through the open door. There was blood on the deck. Theresa was crab crawling away from the open door, brandishing the shotgun like a magician trying to will the monsters away. One of the zombies grabbed the back of the pilot’s seat, in an attempt to pull itself in.

  Warrant Officer Alexis Spencer was about to literally stare death in the face. Looking over her left shoulder, she could see the pale fingers gripping her shoulder strap. Turning to her right, she looked into the pale eye of the ghoul pulling itself toward her.

  Her instinct took over. She immediately applied power to her collective, causing her aircraft to leave mother earth. At almost the same time she jammed her left foot onto the left pedal. This caused the Blackhawk to violently begin spinning left. This caused the ghouls trying to climb in the right door to be thrown free of the aircraft. It also caused the tail rotor to come in contact with several other zombies and a light pole at high speed, thus destroying the tail rotor. Without a way to compensate for the spinning motion of the main rotor, the Blackhawk continued to spin and loose lift at the same time.

  The copilot tried to rectify the situation. He tried left pedal, but nothing happened. Then he made a mistake that he would regret for the rest of his short life. He pushed the collective forward. This caused the falling, spinning helicopter to pitch forward. The helicopter hit the guard rail in a nose down attitude, driving the rail into the flight deck at about chest height, killing both pilot and copilot instantly.

  None of the passengers knew what had happened. To them the pilot had lifted off and shaken the zombies off the chopper. They had all been pushed towards the right side of the aircraft by centripetal force. Then there was the sound of the tail rotor disintegrating and the bottom dropped out from underneath them. The crew chief was thrown between the pilot’s seats when his aircraft struck the ground, injuring his left arm.

  “Get off the chopper!” It was SSgt Brown who was the first to react. He grabbed the crew chief by his flight suit and dragged him off the bird. The others climbed out. Jackson climbed to the flight deck to check the pilots. He knew instantly that both were dead. He climbed out of the wreckage. Jen had the crew chief on the ground. She had torn off the right sleeve of his flight suit, and was tying it around his injured left arm.

  “We have to go!” It was Mike. He was pointing towards the Tahoe. SSgt Brown looked east. He could see the large group of dead walking in their direction. Theresa screamed again, and fired the shotgun. They all turned. More of the dead had climbed onto the road from the west. Theresa had knocked two over with that shot, but here were many more.

  Jen ran towards the Tahoe, keys in hand. “Get him,” she shouted pointing at the injured soldier. Jackson and Mike helped him to his feet. Mike threw the crew chief’s helmet to the ground as they ran. Theresa and SSgt Brown continued to provide cover for the retreating group.

  Jen reached the Tahoe and turned the ignition, starting the SUV. The mass of dead was almost upon her. She slammed the gear shifter into reverse and hit the gas, putting some distance between the survivors and the un-human-wave threatening to swallow them up. She slammed on the breaks next to Mike, Jackson and the crew chief. They piled in, followed closely by SSgt Brown and Theresa.

  Jen looked forward, then backward. There were more ghouls in front than behind and they were packed closer together. She hit the gas, hitting several of the zombies. As she past the on ramp she stopped, threw the wheel over, and floored it. The Tahoe fishtailed to the right, slamming into a light pole. The impact caused the airbags to deploy and threw the passengers around the inside of the SUV.

  Jen’s face slammed into the airbag, causing her to see stars. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. She realized that the Tahoe’s engine had shut down in the crash. She turned the key. The engine whined but would not turn over. Panicked, she pumped the gas pedal. She tried the engine again. It still wouldn’t turn over. “C’mon, c’mon!” She yelled at the dead SUV as she turned the key again.

  Mike realized what had happened. He looked out the back window. He could see a crowd of zombies shuffling down the on ramp they had just come down. “We got to go,” he shouted. The other’s turned.

  “I’m trying,” Jen shouted. Her voice was filled with panic. She continued trying to start the SUV. Mike opened his door. “Let’s go! We gotta go now!” He shouted to the rest of the group. Jackson and SSgt Brown were the first ones out of the
vehicle. They began shooting the closest zombies,

  “Get out of the truck,” shouted SSgt Brown. “We have to move now!” It finally registered to Jen that they had to abandon the Tahoe. She threw open her door and began climbing from the vehicle. She stopped. Reaching back inside, she hit the back door release, opening the trunk. “Grab what you can carry.” Mike and Theresa each grabbed a loaded backpack.

  The group began running north along the road they had come down earlier that morning. Jackson raced past the civilians to take point. This was where he was comfortable. He always hated being tail-end Charlie. He liked knowing that his team had his back. He realized, as they continued up the road, that he didn’t really know anyone on this team except SSgt Brown. But he knew at least his squad leader had his back.

  SSgt Brown continued to fire INTO the crowd of zombies. He would run a few steps, turn and catch his breath, fire a few well aimed shots, then run and catch the group. His volume of fire decreased as the fast moving group out-paced the slow moving hoard of undead.

  Mike slowed down until he let SSgt Brown catch up to him. “I think you should stop shooting now,” he said. “We’re losing them. Save your ammo.” SSgt Brown agreed.

  Jackson led the group up the road about 300 meters until they ran into the parking lot of the burger joint that he and SSgt Brown had hid in the night before. He looked left and right. He could see several small groups of zombies moving in their direction from both east and west.

  “Jen,” he whispered. “I don’t know this area. What do we have around here?”

  “Well, that’s highway 80 up ahead. It runs parallel to I-20, lots of shops and businesses. If we follow this road, we got a neighborhood and apartment complex, then nothing ‘till we get to I-220.”

  “Which way should we go from here?”

  “Try right at the intersection,” she replied.

  “Roger,” he replied. He cut across the parking lot, skirting a small motel, and bringing the group behind a one story office building. He looked around. He couldn’t see any zombies. He made a bee-line to the first back door he came too. It was unlocked.