by Glyn Gardner
He walked back into the living room. The group had finished dinner and Mike was cleaning the dishes while the rest were relaxing on the couches and chairs. SSgt Brown sat down on the end of the couch opposite Jen.
“Looks like this house belongs to an Air Force guy,” he announced. “There are still some clothes in the back. If anyone needs anything, might want to look.” He turned towards SPC Wilcox. “So, what’s the situation on base?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean has the 101st secured the perimeter.”
“I don’t know. Last I heard, they were going to start sweeping the housing areas today. We got 5000 guys on the ground. So, I think we’ll get it cleared out pretty quick.”
“Then what?” asked Jackson. “Are they gonna start pushing out of the gate?”
“I don’t know,” Wilcox replied. “All we were told before we headed out was that we were coming to secure the nukes and bombers.”
“Wait,” interrupted SSgt Brown. “You said 5000 troops. Last time I heard the 101st was almost 20,000 strong.”
“It is,” the aviation troop answered. “They have us split up by Brigade Combat Teams. Not all of us are here.”
“And…” replied the NCO
“Oh. Yeah, the rest of the Division flew into Atlanta to try to secure that city.”
“Atlanta? Why Atlanta?” asked Jackson
“CDC,” replied Jen. They all looked at her. “This is an outbreak. CDC, NIH, any place that does disease research has to be protected.”
“Makes sense,” SSgt Brown replied. “Any idea where else we’re deploying troops?”
“I know the entire 82nd went to Washington, and 10th Mountain went to New York. Other than that, I have no idea. Internet says this thing is global.”
“What do you mean global,” asked Mike from the kitchen.
“I mean Mexico City is totally quiet. Some people were speculating it was some kind of terrorist attack or something like that. You know, drug cartels or something? Then this started happening here. Europe is reporting the dead attacking the living. China declared martial law a few days ago. The Panama Canal was closed yesterday. I mean global, everywhere, the whole fuckin’ planet.”
“What’s the situation here in the states?” asked SSgt Brown.
“Not good. All of the south and southwest are being overrun. I heard that Dallas and Houston are totally silent. Most of the major cities: Washington, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles; all have major outbreaks. So far, the only safe places I’ve heard about is Denver and the Rockies. But, that was yesterday. I don’t know about today.”
“What about the rest of the Army,” asked Mike?
“Well, New York, Atlanta, Washington and a couple of strategic Air Force Bases are getting most of the attention. We got the word that a battalion of 10th Mountain got whipped in New York. I didn’t get the details but I did hear something about 43 survivors.”
“Well, that’s about the ratio we have here. We started off the other day with about 250 troopers. I know of about 15 survivors from our unit. Does the Government have a plan yet?”
“Not that I heard. It sounds like we are still in reaction mode. There have been evacuations and refugee camps set up, but I don’t think they are safe. The one in Meadville Mississippi had to be quarantined because the Creeps made it in.”
“The creeps?” Jackson asked.
“Yeah, that’s what people are calling this, as in “The walking creeps.”
Jackson chuckled. “Watch out, Zed gives you the creeps.” Jen, Theresa and SSgt Brown all laughed at the young black trooper’s joke.
“Ok, kids we need to do a quick round count,” SSgt Brown announced. “Mike, you want to come over here for a bit.”
Mike finished wiping off the last of the dishes. “What’s up Sergeant Brown?”
“Let’s do a quick round count.”
Mike grabbed the backpack with all the ammo in it, and took his pistol out of the holster on his waste. The others followed suit. SSgt Brown was not happy with the results. He and Jackson had a total of 250 rounds for their rifles between them. That was short of the basic combat load for one soldier.
Mike had 32 rounds for his pistol. Wilcox and Jen had a total of 68 rounds for the 9mm’s. Theresa had 22 shotgun shells, and the Mini-14 used the same rounds as the M-4’s. That meant 250 rounds for three rifles.
“Ok guys, we need to start thinking of ways to conserve or replenish ammo. For now, let’s get some sleep. I’ll keep watch first, then: Jen, Jackson, Mike, Theresa and SPC Wilcox. No lights. Remember, if we get breached out the sliding door and rally in the back yard.”
Day 7
North of Highway 80
The night passed without incident. SSgt Brown looked at his watch. 0812. He climbed out of the bed in which he was lying. Stretching, he felt his back pop. Damn, he thought, I’m getting to old. He walked to the kitchen, noting that someone was showering in the hall bathroom.
The smell of bacon met him as he entered the living room. Jen, Mike, and SPC Wilcox were sitting around the small table. Each had a cup of coffee in front of them. Jackson was at the stove, scraping eggs out of a pan.
“Good morning Sergeant,” Jen greeted him.
“Morning,” he muttered.
“Did you sleep well?
“I did. You guys?”
“Like a rock,” added Mike. “You hungry? Jackson says he can do some eggs, so we’re letting him feed us today.”
“I am. Is that Theresa in the bathroom?”
“Yes,” answered Jen. “We all figured that we should take advantage of hot water. It might be a while before we get another chance to shower.”
He poured himself a cup of coffee. Sitting down, he took a long swig of the bitter dark liquid. Oh, it tasted so good. He felt the warmth as the hot coffee made its way down to his stomach. “Anybody looked outside this morning?”
“Roger,” replied Wilcox. SSgt Brown noted that he had a proper sling on his left arm. Jen’s work no doubt. He also had replaced his flight suit with a pair of cargo pants and tee shirt. “No bad guys out front or out back. The dog stopped barking about five this morning. Not sure if he just gave up, or the creeps finally got him.”
Jackson served the group their plates. The survivors ate in silence. Theresa walked into the room. She had traded in her shorts and tank-top for the Air Force uniform that had been hanging in the master bedroom. It was several sizes too big for her. SSgt Brown got up from the table. “Here Theresa,” he offered. “Sit down and eat.” She did.
SSgt Brown walked out of the kitchen. “I’m gonna shower unless it’s someone else’s turn.” No one spoke up. He took a long shower, allowing the hot water to flow over his body. Wow, a cup of coffee and a shower. He wondered if this day could get any better.
He put his uniform back on, liberating a brown tee-shirt, and pair of boxer shorts from the drawers in the master bedroom. Walking back into the living room, he noticed that there were several objects on the couch: a couple of baseball bats, golf clubs, a sword that had been hanging on the wall earlier, and hunting knife.
“What’s all this?”
“Oh,” Mike replied. “You said something about conserving ammo. Well, I figured we could use some of this for close in.” He glanced at SPC Wilcox. “You know, in case Wilcox over there needs to shoot something that’s already dead.” They all laughed, even the young aviation trooper.
SSgt Brown picked up one of the baseball bats, swinging it easily with one hand. I guess this could crush the skull of one of these things. He felt his load bearing equipment for his bayonet. “Ok, me and Jackson will use our bayonets. You guys can have the bats.”
He picked up the sword. He could feel the blade rattle inside the hilt. “Get rid of this. It isn’t a live blade. It’ll fall apart the first time you use it. Not good.” He tossed it to the floor.
Mike got up from the table and strode to the back of the house. SSgt Brown could hear the water turn on. He thought abo
ut today’s plan. This house is kinda nice, but not very defensible. Would they get to the interstate? What would they find there? Where to go from there? He sat down on the couch, deep in thought.
Mike returned from his shower. He too had liberated some clothes from the back. He still had his jeans on, but had found a teal colored tee-shirt. SSgt Brown was sure that the shirt had come from the wife’s drawers. Mike was shorter and heavier than SSgt Brown. He doubted they could fit into the same sized clothes.
“Nice shirt, sweetheart.” It was Jen.
“You like? It was this, pink, or peach. I figured this was the most…subdued color.”
“If we ever run into Mrs. Sanderson, you might want to thank her.”
“Will do, honey.”
Jen and Jackson took their turn at taking a shower. Both came back looking the same as they had before. No surprise, thought SSgt Brown. Neither one of them could fit into any of the clothes in the house.
“Where do you guys think we need to go from here?” Everyone stopped at the NCO’s question.
“We need to have a plan and objectives. We’re out of contact with the base. Does anyone think that is still a viable option?”
Wilcox spoke up. “Couldn’t we try to flag down a chopper? They’re still going to be flying missions. We could try to get them to pick us up with a signal or something.”
“Ok, where do we do it?” Jen replied to the aviation troop. “We can’t land a chopper here. We have to find somewhere else. That means outside from where I sit. That’s vulnerable. I say we get the hell out of town. Wilcox said that the Rockies are safe. We can hit the road and try to make it there.”
“That’s a long trip,” added SSgt Brown. “We don’t even know if we can get there. We want to make that bet?”
“We could find a better place to hole up, and try to call for help.” It was Theresa. “We could find something out of town, but with a big parking lot. Like the strip mall on I-220. There’s a field down the road, and a couple of those buildings don’t even have windows.”
“Not a bad idea,” added Jen. “And, if we need to bolt, we have a great big highway. I like it.”
“Mike? What do you think,” asked SSgt Brown.
“Sounds like a good idea. I don’t have anything better to do.”
“Alright, how far is it?”
“About five miles,” replied Jen.
“We should get moving then. Mike, toss some of that dry food into a backpack. We don’t know when the next meal will be.”
They all prepared to move out. Mike with the Mini-14, the two cavalry troopers with their black rifles, Theresa with the shotgun, Jen and Wilcox with 9mm pistols, and a back pack each. SSgt Brown looked at Theresa. Wow, even though the uniform was too big for her, he couldn’t help but think how well it really did fit her. But, there was something wrong.
“Theresa, come over here.” She did as she was told. He pulled the multi-tool out of its case on his belt. “We need to fix you a bit.” He cut the name tags and stripes off of her new uniform. “Sorry, can’t have anyone thinking you outrank me.” She laughed. “I want you to back Jackson up today. You guys will take point and I’ll bring up the rear.”
“I can do that, sir.” she replied.
“Good. Let’s move out. Jackson, get us to that mall.”
They went out the front door. The street was still empty. Jackson led them between the houses. The drill was the same every time: He would cross the street to the corner of the next house. He would then follow the wall and peer around the corner. If it was clear, he’d wave for the rest to follow. They’d wait, hugging the wall as he continued on.
Sometimes the house he chose was directly across the street from the one his friends were crouched beside. Sometimes it was several houses left or right. In that case, Theresa would follow him to the closest corner so she could maintain contact with him and the rest of the group.
As they reached the fifth or sixth street, Jackson slowed his pace. He could feel something. Almost like a sound, but deep in his chest. Each house seemed to bring him closer to the sound. The other’s heard it too. SSgt Brown held Jackson up at one of the houses. He pointed to his right ear, and then shrugged his shoulders. Jackson shrugged back. He had no idea where it was coming from.
They continued on. As the group was catching up to Jackson, he threw his left fist up next to his left ear. FREEZE! The civilians did not understand the standard military hand signal. They picked up their pace to catch the young trooper. Only SSgt Brown understood the message, and he was in no position to stop the rest of the group.
He just sprinted up to the trooper’s side to assess the situation. He heard it before he saw it. Moans, he could hear lots of moans. As he reached the corner, he saw the largest hoard they’d seen yet. Jesus, the whole neighborhood must be on this street. He estimated that there were 200 zombies on the street.
Then he realized that this was where the noise was coming from. One of the houses on this street had a radio on. And, it was blaring. What kind of moron… Wait. He realized this wasn’t an accident. Someone had turned that stereo on for a reason. But, who was it? Every zombie in the neighborhood had been attracted to this area like moths to a flame.
So, who was it? He looked at the surrounding houses. None stood out. None seemed to be occupied, but then none should. Theresa tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned, she was pointing across the street about six houses west of where they were standing. There, on the porch was an American flag, flying upside down. There were several bodies in the front yard, not moving.
“That’s a sign of distress,” she whispered. “We learned it in civics class last year. I bet whoever blared this music did it to clear their porch of bad guys. Pretty darned smart if you ask this girl.”
“She’s right,” added Jackson. “I bet there are survivors in there. Front door looks to be closed, and curtains are pulled shut. ‘There’s got to be survivors in there.”
“So, what do we just stroll across the street and knock on the door? How do we know if they want company?”
“Never know ‘till we ask,” replied Mike. “You said it yourself, we win when we band together. We need to at least try to get them on the team.”
“Ok, Jackson,” the NCO began. “Let’s move down a few houses before we cross. You want to back track us a little bit?”
“You got it boss.” The young trooper began his routine, this time moving down the street instead of crossing it. The group would move from the side of one house, to the side of the next, exposing themselves in the front yards for as short a time as possible. The plan worked for the first four houses. It fell apart 75 feet from their ultimate goal.
As Jackson rounded the corner of the fourth house, he ran face to face with two ghouls. One was a fat man, who appeared to have died when he was about 60. His grey beard stained with the black blood of its victims. The second had been a young woman at the time of her death. She still wore the black lingerie that she had been wearing when she died. Her jet black hair was still wet from the blood of her last victim.
The duo was apparently responding to the sound of the music. It took them a second to respond to the new stimulus. This was exactly the time Jackson needed. He kicked the woman in the chest, knocking her off balance and sending her stumbling backwards several steps. He shoved his M-4 under the chin of the old man, and pulled the trigger. BANG! The zombie’s brain was obliterated by the 5.56 mm ball round. A spray of black goo splattered the wall of the house. The zombie slumped to the ground.
Jackson spun to face the female zombie. She had regained her forward momentum and was reaching for the young trooper. Jackson swung his rifle towards her. He realized she was going to end up inside of the arc of his weapon. He stumbled back a step, and again kicked the zombie in the chest. As she stumbled back, her hand closed around the trooper’s right ankle. This pulled, the already off balance, Jackson to the ground.
As he fell, he could feel the panic rising inside. He stared
at the creature’s mouth. He could see her mouth getting closer. He tried to jerk his ankle out of the monster’s grip. It didn’t budge. He kicked with his left boot, connecting several times. The creature’s head snapped back. But it quickly returned forward, mouth closing in on his right leg.
BANG! Click-click. The zombies head exploded. Jackson was sure he could see the jawbone spinning away from him in the grass. He looked up. There above him was a 14 year old girl, dressed in an Airman’s uniform, holding a still smoking shotgun. Her face mirrored the panic he felt.
“Oh God!” she exclaimed. “Did it get you?”
Jackson just looked at her. He was frozen. It wasn’t fear. It was something else, the look. What was that look she had? It was panic. Why was she looking at him like that?
“Your leg,” she yelled at him. “Did it bite your leg?”
Jackson dropped his rifle and slid his right hand down to his ankle. He could feel something wet. Oh God! Is that blood? Did I get bit? No, there’s no pain. He jerked his pants leg out of his boot. No, the leg was still intact. Thank God!
“No,” he croaked. “It isn’t my blood.” He could feel that familiar feeling coming over him. He was getting shaky. He needed to get up. He had to keep moving before the shakes incapacitated him. He leapt to his feet. “I’m ok, let’s go.” He turned looking at the rest of the group. They were all standing there staring at him.
“I’m fine,” he reassured them. “Let’s go.” He leaned over and picked up his rifle. He decided they were close enough to their target to just cross the street. He made a beeline for the front porch. They’ve got to know we’re out here, he thought. Two gunshots on this street should have waked the dead. Oh shit! He turned in the direction of the music. Damn!
Walking down the street towards the group was a group of about ten or fifteen zombies. The music held most of the neighborhood’s attention, but some had turned towards the gunshots. They were still several houses away. There was still time. He charged up the stairs, knocking loudly on the door when he reached the top of the steps.
