“I think the locals got hungry and got more than they were prepared for when they decided to take back the store. See all that spent brass around the front of the building. I’m guessing that between that and the number of vehicles parked here, that the Zs got them. You want to come into the store with me? There’s not many inside.”
“I’d bet there’s more food and supplies in the truck than the entire store. I’ll stay here and protect the truck from looters.” Ann was relieved when he didn’t make fun of her. Instead, she started to worry about looters.
Caleb adjusted the patrol sling, wondering if he even really needed to carry the M4 into the store.
“What the hell!” Caleb fell to the floor, averting a black cloud of birds flying over and around him, disturbed from their feast when he entered the store. Thirty or more bodies were scattered around the store’s entrance. All either had firearms or improvised weapons near them. Looks like the Zs won this one or they’d have recovered the guns. Caleb noted the smell of fresh dead bodies; he also noted it was becoming easier to filter them out with his increased sense of smell. He sensed only a few infected in the building, they projected a sense of loss and sadness. He knew they were hurt and fought the urge to go help them, instead looking around for maps or anything of use. The inside of the building was like a checkerboard of areas either normal or firebombed; the smell of gasoline was still strong to his increased sense of smell. A smoke damaged sign pointed the way to ‘New Releases’ in the ‘Books and Magazine’ section of the store. Caleb screamed out in his disgust when he found the section where maps and local interests had been. All that remained was the metal shelves with their blistered paint and the piles of ash. Caleb kicked at a pile of ash in his scorn and raised a fine cloud, making his eyes water and throat constrict. In disgust he stormed from the store, not even looking for any other supplies.
“Hey stud, looks like you came out empty handed.” Ann was perched on an ice chest drinking a beer. In her lap was a huge road map book of Colorado. On the pavement around her were assorted other maps for neighboring states, including Wyoming. “You’re looking a little hot, you want a Coors?” Ann opened the ice chest, revealing cans of beer and soda along with a loaf of bread and sealed lunchmeats and cheeses. “There’s also some more fuel, food and ammo. I figured we were good in those categories. If I were to bet, I’d say they were planning on a road trip.”
Caleb chose a soda instead and enjoyed the sweet, carbonated drink. He poked around the back of the abandoned trucks, discovering a dozen jerry cans of diesel and a battery-operated siphon. Well, I know what I get to do now before we move on. He got behind the wheel of the truck and moved it alongside his own. On the floor of the truck, he noticed an old-style load-bearing harness and decided to take a better look at it. After sticking the hose in the jerry can and his truck, he started the pump, then looked over the old harness. The olive drab shoulder straps and pouches all had US on them. On the inside of the belt it was marked as well. There was a huge fighting knife in its sheath, taped upside down on the left shoulder strap; the eighteen-inch blade appeared lethal. The right shoulder strap held a small pouch with a compass in it. The belt had two empty M16 magazine pouches, a canteen, an empty pistol magazine pouch, and a black leather pistol holster. The gear smelled musty but in good condition. A slurping noise told Caleb it was time to switch to a new jerry can. He stuck the hose in the new can and pulled off his duty belt. The pistol and ammo fit well enough in the existing holster and pouch. He took off the baton holster from the duty belt. Using the existing tape, he taped it upside down alongside the knife sheath. Impressed with his work, he donned the harness, adjusting the straps until he was satisfied. The last of the diesel was sucking into the tank as he finished up.
“Ann, if you want, you could fill up one of these trucks with your treasures and be on your own. There are at least two dozen guns in the store you could have. Not implying anything, just shooting it out there.”
“I couldn’t let you go on by yourself, I’d worry too much. I have to see that you make it to some place safe, Caleb.” Caleb smiled at her utter lack of empathy.
“Well, get your chest in the truck and we can be on our way. With the exception of Cheyenne, we should have a simple drive from here, less than two hundred miles.”
“Welcome to the ZA radio station of Cheyenne, Wyoming, no longer restricted by the FCC because there is no USA. If you are listening to this, you have survived the Zombie Apocalypse, so far. You have tuned in to our news hour. I’m Delores Del Monte, your hostess with the mostest. It appears Wyoming is the only state with the lights on and a few of our neighbors on our power grid. We’ve had reports that all nuclear power plants have been taken out by aliens.
Major cities are major problems as they are now under zombie control. Wyoming is under martial law by acting Chairman of the Joints Chief of Staff, Air Force Major General William Peters, who is now also the military governor of Wyoming. Peters has ordered the immediate evacuation from all towns and cities during the hours of darkness. His administration will assist towns and cities in removing the Zs, but admits it will take time because of a shortage of manpower. Volunteers and all members of the military, regardless if you’re retired, active duty, or whatever; he needs you to go to Douglas County Airport, the temporary seat of power for the state.
If you just happened to wake up, and don’t know what’s been going on, well, you’re screwed. At last guess, ninety percent of the world’s population has turned into zombies. In order to kill them, you have to destroy their brain or their heart. Reports say you can burn them to death or drown them, too. Additional reports to be announced as we get them. Now for your listening pleasure, the Zombies bring you, Hold Your Head Up.”
Caleb looked at Ann in amusement and laughed, trying not to cry, as they neared the Wyoming border. “Wow, we’re going to have electricity and radio. I bet you they’ll even have sliced bread soon, too.”
“Don’t get too excited, Caleb, there’s going to be a hell of a lot of things to do and I think things will get worse before they get better. How many workers do they need to run the power plants? Can they repair problems? What happens when the peanut butter runs out? Humans are going to be a minority for a while to come.”
“Do you think that’s good news or bad?” Caleb pointed to a roadblock with a Stryker one hundred feet ahead of them.
“If it’s bad news, then it’s really bad news. There are a few dug in positions, too. If we try to turn around, they might be trigger happy. If they’re on the up and up, you’d better get your CAC ready to show them.” Caleb slowed but didn’t stop as he fished out his CAC and positioned his M4 for easier reach.
A sole patrolman walked out to the center of the road and held up his hand for Caleb to stop. Caleb rolled down his window as he neared him. “I’m sorry Officer, was I speeding?”
The patrolman climbed up on the truck’s side step, looked at Caleb and laughed heartily. “That’s the best one I heard all day, son. What brings you to our great state of Wyoming today, business or pleasure? He looked over at Ann and smiled until he saw the pair of M4s in easy reach of both truck occupants.
“Sir, I’m actually trying to get back to my unit. I work for General Peters, I just left Peterson AFB yesterday.” He held out his CAC to the patrolman who seemed even friendlier now.
“Son, I need you to shut off your engine. I have to get one of those guys to tell you what to do.” He pointed to the Stryker, as if it was hard to miss, then nodded his head. A pair of soldiers came out from behind the Stryker, obviously waiting for a signal. He carried the CAC over to them, and then went over to a group of patrolmen.
“A1C Caleb White. Can you tell me your last four please?” The Army Sergeant asked.
“7899, Sergeant,” Caleb replied, just knowing the NCO was expecting him to call him ‘Sir’. The sergeant handed him back his CAC and smiled.
“Ma'am, do you have an ID also?” He let his eyes travel to her chest and
didn’t notice her eyes harden.
She handed the card to Caleb to pass on and noticed him go a little white in the face. The sergeant stood a little straighter when Caleb handed him the CAC. “Ma'am, can you please tell me your last four, and your date of birth?”
“1155, 10 January 2004, Sergeant.” Ann replied, sounding slightly annoyed.
“Thank you, Ma'am. If you stay on I25 past Cheyenne, you’ll find the lanes have been cleared. The Douglass Airport is 135 miles from Cheyenne. As you get closer to it, there’ll be signs. Soldier, you can proceed on from here.” Caleb didn’t look over at Ann; instead he turned the radio back on.
“Tell her no no no no no-no-no-no. No no no no no-no-no-no” blared out as they both cracked up, laughing at the Zombies’ song.
Chapter 22
Converse County Airport, Wyoming. April 4, 2029
There was movement on the other side of the room, with a small flashlight throwing off shadows. What the hell was that guard doing last night? Peterson quietly got out of bed and pulled his pistol out from under his pillow and the small metal penlight from the floor by his boots. Where the hell are my boots? Stealthily, he walked around the office partition next to his bed, pistol ready. A lone figure was sitting next to a table that hadn’t been there when he had gone to bed. Two Styrofoam containers sat on the table, the smell of pancakes and bacon were calling to him, as was the pot of coffee on the table. The man, hunched down over something with his back to Peters, didn’t make any fast or funny moves.
“I’m sorry if I woke you, sir. I knew you had a big day ahead of you. I grabbed a little of everything from the kitchen and managed to find an unused coffee pot. I noticed yesterday you wear black flight boots with your flightsuit, so I touched them up a little for you.” The man pushed himself away from the table and directed his own light at the boots, which now gleamed from the beam of light. “I’m SSG Werner. Your driver, bodyguard, and chief dog robber. Unfortunately, I don’t know what the hell a canapé is.”
The watch showed 0600, and then began to beep. “Guess it’s time to get up. Why don’t you pour us each a cup of coffee, and turn the lights on.” Peters turned back to his bed, noticing a chair there now with his flightsuit and clothes laid out for him.
“You must have been busy last night. You’re pretty damn stealthy to do everything you did last night and not wake me. I’ll give you that. However, can you make a decent cup of coffee?”
“Sir, nobody has ever complained to my face about my coffee. I learned stealth one night when I had to put my pants on in a pitch-black closet with a pocketful of change, and then get through a bedroom, down the stairs and then start a truck with a messed up muffler. Soon afterwards, I enlisted and left home for the first time.
“I can see how that may have been beneficial. What was your MOS when you came in?”
“I came in 11B. My home town was small and I was running out of places to hide. I had damn good ASVAB scores, but there was no wait time at all to come in infantry. Ironic thing was the day after I enlisted; the gentleman looking for me found another man in his wife’s closet with a pocket full of change and blew him away with a 12 gauge. He’s in prison for life and his wife sold everything and moved on. If I had gone for another MOS, I could have said to hell with it and stayed a civilian. Funny thing is, I wouldn’t change a thing, except the zombie apocalypse.
“That’s a good story, how much of it’s true?” Peters laughed. He’d heard almost the same story over a dozen times from three different services.
“Sir, you wound me. Most of its true, except the murder and exceptional ASVAB scores. I did have a pocket full of change.” Peters laughed along with the SSG as he finished tying his boot. The food wasn’t hot, but it was warm and filling.
“Thank you for your help. You have a call sign or name you prefer to be called?”
“Sir, my first name is Jody; friends just call me Werner.” Peters saw the pained look on the SSG’s face and said nothing about his first name.
“Time to go to war for the day, Werner. Maybe instead of staying in the command post, we’ll go downtown and visit the troops as they clear the town out. I don’t mind you being my shadow, let’s just try to play it down. Peters checked his M9 before slipping it into the leather jacket’s inside pocket.
The wind almost took off the general’s arm as it yanked the terminal’s door sharply as he opened it. The sun was already above the horizon and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. There was a long line for those trying to get breakfast before going on the morning mission. From the distance, he could see a few of them pointing in his direction. He gave an exaggerated wave, then held up his hand, giving them the V for victory. A mix of waves and Vs were returned with a chant of ‘Hooah!’
The command post appeared to be orchestrated pandemonium. The largest group was at a single display of a quarry. “Good morning, General Peters. Here you go, black and hot.” General Davis smiled as he offered up a mug of coffee. “The full sun hasn’t reached the quarry where the Z’s were corralled last night. Most of them are in the east side, cowering in the shade of the east wall. I’m estimating about the best cover of sunlight will be around noon. The view of the quarry zoomed in on the west side. The ground was covered with corpses. The view slowly panned to the eastern side, where hundreds were cowed in the shade.
“Sir, it’s been interesting. As the sun gets higher, they just climb on top of each other to stay in the shade. I estimate that along the wall of the quarry itself, it’s as much as twenty bodies deep. It’s not the sun that’s going to kill them; most will be smothered or crushed to death,” a young lieutenant said, then gave an involuntary shudder.
Peters looked at his watch, noticing it was 0645 already. He went over to the display for the morning operation and watched as the Strykers made their way into town and took up their positions around the small city. The display randomly zoomed in on different teams as they stood outside their vehicles and waited for the word to proceed. Peters began to feel a little nauseous as the minutes drew closer to 0700. He regretted not taking a more hands on approach to the operation and a chance to interact with the teams. He saw Col Nguyen and decided on a post op party for the troops.
“Col Nguyen, I have a new mission that must be completed by 1800. I want a celebration of our first town cleared. Every man will have the chance to have beer and steak tonight. I need your logistics mastery to make it happen. I just came up with the plan. Let me know if you have problems.” Nguyen’s face didn’t betray any of his thoughts or emotions.
“Yes, Sir, I think that’s a wonderful idea. I’d better get busy on that.” All I have to do is find a dozen uninfected cows, butchers, grills, something to go along with the steak and beer. Where the hell am I gonna find beer in the apocalypse?”
If I get a chance, that Army SOB Wendel will have an accident for volunteering us to participate in an operation as a ‘token’ Air Force presence. That brown-nosing bastard’s going down, along with that gutless ‘yes man’ Murphy. “SSgt Barnes, the word has been given to commence clearing operations.” Wetzel announced from his commander’s seat at the front of the Guardian armored car.
“Okay, ladies and gents. Just like we all trained in the shoot house. Now, let’s get out of this tin can and get down to business.” Barnes ordered. SrA Russo was closest to the hatch, dropping first the lower half, then raising the top half, he almost fell out as he exited the vehicle and assumed a position to cover the rest of the team exiting.
The house before them just shouted out ‘middle class America’. A huge SUV and an old work pickup sat in the driveway. The house was a white split-level that looked like it must be two thousand square foot inside. A pair of kids’ bikes lay in the front yard. “Andersen, Popov, check out the perimeter, look for broken windows or open doors. No unnecessary risks. Move”
Barnes began to get uncomfortable, With nine years in, seven of them counting rivets on B52s, the most dangerous thing he’d ever done was pull over a dru
nk driver before the apocalypse. “SSgt Barnes, since the Zs don’t shoot back, why don’t we go in through the garage door? The remotes are in both vehicles,” SrA Russo suggested. Andersen and Popov rounded the corner at that moment.
“The house is sealed tight, no damage noted.” Andersen reported.
“Rally up! We have change one to the plan already. We’re going to breach the house through the garage. I’ll open the door, then we observe before entering. No firing other than on my command unless we receive fire first.” Rumbling behind them made him stop for a moment as a Stryker pulled up on the opposite side of the street and the troops dismounted, some staring at the sight of Air Force in the field.
Barnes nodded to Russo and he pressed the garage door opener. The opening door faced the east and, as the sun came in, the Zs began shrieking, then a short whimpering, then quiet. A large boat filled the garage so the team split in two prearranged stacks, one on each side of the boat.
Under a workbench, two adult Zs lay on top of two young Zs. The mother wore a familiar red Star Trek nightshirt. My wife has that same shirt. That could be her trying to protect our kids. “I don’t want to hear one damn red shirt joke. Mayer, get your tool, stack on Andersen, prepare to go in. Mayer, see if the doors are unlocked before you use your tool. Andersen, you give the command when ready.” Barnes eyes strayed over to the dead Z mother. He tasted the watery start of bile rising in the back of his throat.
“GO!” Andersen shouted. Mayer opened the door and kicked it open for good measure. Andersen took a step, and then was knocked down as three small dogs rushed by his legs, then a huge working dog followed. They steered their way through the teams’ legs and then out the garage door. The Army team across the street laughed at the Air Force breech attempt, then shouted in horror and scattered as the dogs continued towards them. A single NCO stood his ground and opened up on the dogs when he had a clear field of fire. Two quick braaacks of his M4 on auto, and the dogs lay in the street dead.
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