by S. Ganley
They waited while the four zombies made one more complete circuit, Miranda and Doug kept their eyes glued on Garrett waiting for him to make his move. As soon as the three zombies walking close together made the turn that put their backs to the woods Garrett stepped out from behind the tree and moved forward. Coming in at an oblique angle and as low to the ground as possible, Garrett ate up the distance to the zombie and was within striking distance before its head suddenly jerked to the side and its eyes locked in on him. Sensing that a scream that was about to emanate from the creatures mouth, Garrett lunged forward with his knife hand extending out at the same time. Garrett drove the blade directly into the zombies open mouth, turning it upwards at the last second to pierce the top of the palate and into the base of the brain stem. Feeling the zombie start to go limp, Garrett withdrew the knife and started spinning his body towards the backside of his next target. As he came around he saw Miranda as she reached the back of the woman zombie and was just driving the blade of her knife into the soft spot at the back of her skull. Garrett had taught her that move and to go for that exact spot, she hit it perfectly and followed through by grasping the dying corpse around its waist and easing it to the ground to minimize the noise it would make. As Garrett was taking the handful of steps needed to close on his second target he saw that Doug had screwed up on his approach to the zombie he was stalking. Instead of keeping at an angle that would allow him to follow the zombie’s movements and remain out of sight, Doug had stepped off to the side to prepare for a strike at the side of the zombies head. Since Doug was carrying a hatchet instead of a knife he was trying to put himself in a better position to use his minimal body weight to his full advantage in a single devastating swing. However, he had misjudged the zombie’s movements and wondered into the edge of its vision. Garrett saw the zombie starting to turn towards Doug just as he was moving in to make his second strike. The timing couldn't have been worse. If Garrett stopped to assist Doug the zombie he was going after would be alerted to their presence and would have a clean shot at his back. He had to deal with his own objective first and then just hope that Doug was able to fend off that single zombie long enough for him to recover and come to his aid. Garrett focused on the zombie in front of him and timed his attack so that as they zombie took another step and started to shift his weight to his back leg he was able to tangle his own strong leg in between the zombie’s feet causing him to trip forward. Garrett stuck his knife welding hand in front of the zombies face as it fell and was able to use the force of its fall along with the rise of his own hand together to skewer the blade through the zombie’s temple. The maneuver helped him expedite his attack because by the time the zombies brain ceased to function it was already very close to the road beneath him and Garrett was able to just step over the body and continue moving forward towards Doug. Garrett had only covered a few feet when he stopped dead in his tracks. In the few seconds that he had been occupied with the zombie he had just killed, Miranda had not only already dispatched her own target but had taken out Doug's as well. From what Garrett could see as he looked over the scene, after Miranda had thrust her knife expertly into the back of the woman zombie's head she had left that blade in place and turned back towards Doug as he realized his error and started backing away from the zombie that was turning towards him. Doug had already raised the hatchet over his head ready for to strike and Miranda had simply snatched it from his hand and rushed the zombie before it was able to take its first step towards Doug. Garrett stared in fascination at the hatchet still buried to its hilt through the zombie’s forehead. The thing stood over a foot taller than Miranda and she had not been able to get the blade over the top of the skull to bring it down through the head that way. Her improvisation had worked just as well though and done the job.
Miranda was standing on the edge of the road looking back over her handiwork with a look in her eyes that Garrett recognized from soldiers in combat. She was rapidly becoming desensitized to the business of dealing death. When killing became nothing more than a job that needed to be done it stopped tugging at a person’s conscious leaving them in one of two conditions. Most soldiers simply became sullen and withdrawn tending to seek others who had faced similar circumstances and could relate to them. Those were the ones who tended to survive mentally intact with the passage of time being their best medicine. The other group was the more troubling, they were the ones who once they had a taste for blood, found killing to be an addictive drug that they could never get enough of. They had the greatest chance of turning completely psychotic, suffering from break downs and were more likely to find other ways of continuing to feed their addiction long after their tour of duty in a combat zone ended. In most cases this was something that was experienced by men. But that was only because combat was predominately limited to men. Ever since the Pentagon started adopting a more liberal policy of allowing women to serve in front line units the same type of psychosis began to be seen with them as well. What Garrett was seeing in Miranda's eyes really worried him, she was on a slippery slope and there was just no telling which direction she would end up falling when all was said and done. The best he could do was keep an eye on her and keep talking to her to see if she started exhibiting any signs that she was starting to enjoy killing a little too much.
Doug had stumbled backwards when he tried to retreat from his failed attack and was now sitting on his ass looking humbled as he gazed around him at the carnage Garrett and Miranda had caused. The dejected look on his face told Garrett that he knew he had screwed up and that Miranda had once again saved his ass. Garrett may have admired his willingness to step up to the plate and stand in the face of danger. But until he was better trained and equipped to follow through, Garrett was going to have him warming the bench for now on before he got someone killed.
Retrieving their weapons from the bodies of the zombies, Miranda and Doug remained at the head of the trail while Garrett returned to the Range Rover and pulled it alongside Kyle's patrol car. Garrett distributed the supplies from the back to each of them but would still have to return for at least one additional trip. Taking point at the start of the trail he assigned Miranda to take up the rear and he led them off into the woods while reminding each of them to watch their footing and remain as quite as possible. They had no idea what other dangers may be lurking between the road and the Ranger Station.
Chapter 12
The Abraham Lincoln reached its patrol zone just before dinner and went to modified battle stations as soon as it arrived. With only a skeleton crew aboard this meant that only half of the close in weapons stations and lookout points were manned around the clock. Taking into consideration the mess they had run into with the cutter and its accompanying civilian ships, the Captain was taking no chances. Even at a position of a hundred miles from shore it was conceivable that smaller vessels carrying refuges could attempt to reach the carrier under the assumption they were in the area conducting rescue operations. The Cheyenne was under orders to remain submerged throughout the mission and was maintaining a slow zig zag patrol pattern fifteen miles in front of the carrier along the most likely means of approach any ships from the mainland would take if they intended on reaching the Abraham Lincoln.
Crusher was on the flight desk along with the two pilots who would fly the first mission into the hot zone. Normally Crusher would have volunteered to lead the charge with the initial flight into the unknown. Since he had commanded the last flight and it had resulted in combat action, protocol called for him to stand down for at least twelve hours before flying again. As the squadron commander he did have the authority to override such protocols but he felt it was important to set the right example to his junior pilots. Rules and regulations might seem useless in the wake of the apocalypse but he knew that they were the glue that helped to keep a unit such as his own operating like a well-oiled machine and he was not willing to go against the grain and start letting things slide. He had seen it before, all it really took was one or two times for a lead
er to take a short cut and before you knew it the men underneath him were following that lead on a regular basis. For them to get through this would require a strict adherence to discipline and he vowed to not be the one to deviate from that path.
The two F-18's that would fly the first mission had already been fitted out with a complete chemical warfare package. Both pilots would be wearing chemical warfare suits over their flight suits and would use a dedicated oxygen supply for the entire flight. The flight deck had been rigged with a decontamination area that would allow crews to hose off returning aircraft before the cockpits were opened. Once the pilots left their planes they would proceed to a specially designed pop up shelter where they would disrobe completely and be put through a decontamination shower. That would be followed by a complex set of medical examinations to include blood and tissue samples. Each pilot would remain in the shelter until all samples were thoroughly examined and they were deemed contaminant free. Those were the basic procedures for operating in such an environment but the Captain had added on to them in consideration of the hazards of the virus they were facing today. The crew quarters for all pilots and ground crews who would be operating on the mainland had been isolated from the rest of the ship. All ship’s crew and other personnel not participating in shore operations had been relocated to the bowels of the ship for the duration of their mission. A separate mess facility had been set up to accommodate the segregated crew members. Even the passageways they would be permitted to traverse had been assigned to keep them as far from the remainder of the crew as possible. On his way to the flight deck, Crusher had passed a pair of armed Marines in full chemical protective gear standing vigilant guard at an intersection leading to one of the main thoroughfares throughout the ship. The sight of those Marines struck a chord with him about just how far they had come in such a short time to losing everything. If they failed here and were not able to find what Dr. Woods and his team needed to isolate a cure, they were all doomed.
Crusher walked back to the base of the superstructure where he could observe the launch of the first mission while remaining plugged into the radio chatter from the flight boss, radar and weapons stations as well as the pilots themselves. He would remain there and monitor the mission until his pilots were both safely back on board in just over five hours. The two planes lit off their engines and after the final checks were completed they were cleared for launch. With a deafening roar the pair of F-18's rocketed skyward and climbed to their assigned cruising altitude. Crusher fired off a symbolic salute as they disappeared from view and wished them both luck.
#
With all the supplies they were carrying along the trail it was necessary to take several breaks along the way. It was no surprise to anyone that they were forced to take multiple breaks along the way for Emily to catch her breath. Thirty minutes after getting on the trail and they had just reached a point where Garrett knew they were within fifty yards of the Ranger Station. It was at that point that he started to realize something was not right. A slight breeze through the trees had brought the scent of a disturbing and familiar odor to his nose. There was no mistaking the distinct smell of death in the air and there could only be one possible source to what he was smelling. Zombies were either close by or had been in the area recently. The only thing anywhere within easy distance of that spot was the Ranger Station, if zombies had been there then that had been their destination.
Lowering his arm full of supplies to the ground, Garrett slid the rifle from his shoulder and snapped the safety off while inspecting the chamber to ensure a round was still chambered. His concern about gunfire attracting zombies was now moot, if they had already located their little hideout then his immediate priority was the safety of Kyle and the pair of women inside the structure.
Everyone else had watched him making his preparations and they had also noticed the smell hanging in the air.
"Wait here. Miranda, keep an eye on our backs. If I start shooting, drop what you are carrying and get back to the Range Rover." Garrett instructed without taking his eyes off the trail in front of them.
Miranda turned and walked a few feet further down the trail and found a good vantage point where she could observe behind them for some distance.
Garrett eased off the trail and into the nearby woods where he carefully approached the open ground directly in front of the station. Every few feet he moved he would stop and listen for a couple seconds. He knew that zombies had no sense of stealth and if there were any of them in the woods nearby they would announce themselves easily. The woods was silent and still, only the lingering smell of death gave him any sense of danger nearby. As the station started to come into view he began to feel a measure of relief that there was no sign of any movement either in the clearing directly in front of it or along the long wooden porch just outside the front door. The closer he got to the structure the more intense the odor became until he was almost retching from the pungent stench. There was no doubt that the source of the smell was coming from the area around the Ranger Station. Zombies had visited not long ago. There was no outward sign of a fight that he could see from the edge of the woods and there was also no obvious signs of life from either the living or dead. He did note that the wooden shutters covering the windows on the front of the building were now sealed tight. Garrett took that as a good sign. If Kyle or Shellie had realized zombies were near, they may have just sealed everything up tight and hunkered down inside. The four zombies Garrett and Miranda had dealt with back at the road may have been the extent of the threat they had been faced with.
Just as he was about to step out into the clearing his eyes locked on a pair of feet sticking a few inches beyond the brush along the side of the porch. From the size of the feet and the type of socks Garrett could see, it was a full grown man. The thought that it may be Kyle flashed through his head. Pushing that possibility to the back of his mind he continued a cautious approach towards the front of the station. Swiveling slowly from side to side he scanned the area around the far corner of the building before moving across the front of the porch towards the protruding feet. His fear that the body might be Kyle subsided when another gust of wind brought with it a much more intense odor of rotting flesh than they had experienced in the woods. He was now sure that it was a dead zombie he was looking at and one that had been left outside in the sun and heat for some time, it was beyond ripe. It was getting difficult to keep his stomach contents down but Garrett fought back the urge to vomit and got just close enough to confirm it was a zombie in the bushes. The pants were wrong for Kyle and a tear just above the knee exposed a strip of pale discolored skin showing clear signs of decomposition typical of a zombie.
Turning back to the porch Garrett mounted the steps slowly, taking care to take a long stride over the step that he knew squeaked loudly when stepped on. Garrett eased up next to the door and pressed his ear against it hoping to catch some sounds from inside that would give him a clue to what he may be dealing with. The door was thick wood and he didn't think he would be able to hear much but was surprised when he picked out some soft sounds from inside. He could hear movement and what he thought was an anguished groan of pain. Continuing to listen for several moments he also detected the soft whisper of voices.
Garrett reached out and softly knocked three times, spacing each knock just enough so that they sounded deliberate and with conscious thought instead of the senseless banging of a zombie trying to gain entry. He waited and listened for several seconds, when nothing happened he repeated the knock. This time he heard a rustling on the other side of the door and the snap of locks opening. The barrel of the shotgun appeared first in the opening with a scared face barely visible behind it.
"Shellie. It’s Garrett." He called out softly.
The shotgun barrel wavered and then dropped as the door flung open the rest of the way. Shellie's relieved and excited face greeted him.
"Garrett, oh thank god. Kyle's been shot. We need help." She stammered.
"Shot
!" Garrett replied in disbelief, "What the hell happened here?"
She was talking fast and visibly rattled. "We were attacked. Several of them got inside. Kyle had me run to the locker room for a diversion. He was struggling with one of them and Kimberly grabbed the shotgun and shot it. A couple pellets hit Kyle at the same time."
Over her shoulder he caught sight of a figure sitting on the floor with his back to the fall wall of the lobby just outside the bunkroom. As Garrett stepped inside and stared to walk towards Kyle he noted several dead zombies scattered around the lobby. It was evident that there had been one hell of fight there not long before. Garrett's hope that the four zombies they had killed back at the road were the extent of the ones that had tracked them into the woods were quickly dashed. Moving across the room he knelt down next to Kyle. Garrett could see the bloody bandaging across his midsection where he had been shot. Kyle was sweating freely and seemed to be going in and out of consciousness. Even though he looked up at Garrett when he grasped his shoulder it was clear that he either couldn't see him squatting next to him or was mistaking him for a dream. Garrett knew there was little he could do for the man at the moment. He needed to get Miranda and everyone else inside with their supplies. The water and medicine they had recovered would help and Doug might be able to offer some advice on how to best handle this injury without access to a trauma center. Garrett knew that the fever was probably the result of an infection as well as internal bleeding. Gunshot wounds could be very tricky, he had seen soldiers recover from the most traumatic of injuries on the battlefield. He had also seen those who collapsed and died from what appeared on the surface to be nothing more than a minor flesh wound. When bullets impacted internal organs there was no predicting just how the body would react and in some cases the victim never even realized they were in trouble until they simply dropped dead. Shellie seemed to have done a commendable job in dressing his wounds with the material they had on hand. That had likely saved him from bleeding to death already. Whatever was happening inside his body and out of their reach was what would most likely end up killing him.
