by Mark Tufo
“You got it,” Drescoll responds. The rest of the small group around her answer with a quiet “Yes, sergeant.”
Lynn stands and brushes some not-so-imaginary sand from her fatigues. This is more from an anticipatory action and readying herself to step into an unknown. She then steps around the corner heading toward the front of the building, watching the group ahead for any reaction. There are about twenty soldiers gathered in front of the armory in a semi-circle centering their attention on another solider. For the most part, their backs are to her and her approach.
Lynn walks out from the shadow of the building and into the bright morning sun that is beating down upon this barren part of the world. Stopping momentarily to let her eyes adjust, she sees one of the soldiers closer to the central figure as he turns in her direction and notices her. He immediately turns back toward the central figure and starts speaking, pointing in her direction, the exact words not quite reaching her ears. All eyes turn on her as one. The open end of the semi-circle reorients so that it is now facing her.
“Approach and identify yourself,” the central figure states.
“Sergeant Connell,” Lynn responds, feeling relieved and some of the tension inside her releases.
She walks toward the group. As she approaches, she notices that the group is a mix of enlisted personnel and NCOs. She recognizes the short, slightly overweight central figure as Major Bannerman. Walking across the roadway, she steps up to him and salutes.
“I have another small group with me, sir,” she says as Major Bannerman returns her salute and she motions them out.
As her small group walks out from their location and into the roadway, Major Bannerman says, “We were just going to draw weapons and gear and head over to the TOC.”
“I just came from there, sir. We haven’t been able to make contact with anyone else on base nor with anyone on the outside. We haven’t encountered anyone else this morning with the exception of Corporal Horace here. We did find lots of bodies though.”
“We haven’t either, sergeant. We’ll form a temporary unit comprising of those with us until we can get in contact and help arrives. Sergeant Connell, you’re now my First Sergeant. Let’s arm up and head over to the TOC,” Bannerman says.
“Yes, sir,” Lynn responds. “Sergeant Drescoll, draw your weapon, then take seven with you who can drive and bring eight Humvees back. The rest of you will draw your weapons. Then, we’ll start bringing ammo out and stack it in front.”
The handles on the double steel doors leading into the large tan armory building are warm to the touch as Lynn pulls the door open. Cool air from the dimmed interior rushes out and brushes against her. The concrete floor of the small entrance room is lit only by the light streaming in from the now open door. Stepping into the room, Lynn finds the light switch and turns on the bank of lights. The fluorescent lights hanging from the false ceiling of the convex building come to life, flickering momentarily before flooding the room. To the immediate left and right of the entrance, there are offices with glass panels set into the walls and their doors are open. A short distance on the other side of the room, another small room sits behind a wire enclosure. Next to it, another set of double steel doors lead into the back of the building.
“Private, check those doors,” Lynn says, pointing at the other steel doors as others enter into the room. “I’ll see if I can find the checkout sheet.”
Stepping to a door leading into the caged area, Lynn tests it. Surprisingly, she finds it unlocked and opens it. “The doors are locked, Sergeant Connell,” the private checking the armory doors says. Lynn steps into the caged room.
Rummaging through the small area, she finds several sets of keys. Pocketing those, she then finds a clipboard and several sheets of paper. Standing close to the wire and addressing the group within the entrance room, she says, “Okay, listen up. When you draw your weapon and gear, I want your name, unit, serial number, and the serial number of your weapon on the first sheet. When we start bringing the ammo out, I want quantity and type on the second sheet. We’ll enter in groups of five. Is that clear?”
A chorus of “Yes, first sergeant” echoes in the room. With clipboard in hand, Lynn moves toward the steel doors leading into the armory proper. Testing various keys, she eventually finds the right one and unlocks the doors. Swinging them outward and bracing them open, she looks inside. The large room runs the remaining length of the building, but is shrouded in darkness, lit only to a depth of the first fifteen feet. A bank of light switches sits against the wall to her left.
“You five, in with me,” she says to the ones behind her and reaches over to the switches, flicking them upward.
The sound of relays closing echoes in the room from front to back. The lights come on in a sequential fashion, ‘chunk, chunk, chunk, chunk’, spreading light into the room in stages as banks of large, hanging lights come on inside the warehouse.
A loud shriek sounds to her immediate right. Whipping her head toward it, she catches something large slam into one of the soldiers who accompanied her. The soldier is knocked from his feet with a cry of surprise, lands on the concrete floor, and slides to a stop just a few feet in front of her. Another figure in fatigues is on top clawing and biting into him. A wet ripping sound resonates across the vast interior followed by the soldier’s screams. Droplets of blood splatter against the gray concrete floor beside the two writhing bodies. The four soldiers stand just inside the armory doors, paralyzed as the one that was swept from their midst continues to be ravaged on the concrete floor at their feet.
Without hesitation, Lynn drops the clipboard and launches herself at the soldier on top. Landing on its back, she wraps her right arm around its throat and continues her roll to the right, finishing on her back with the attacker on top in a chokehold. The thing on top of her snarls and struggles in an attempt to break her hold. Lynn wraps her legs around the assailant’s legs in order to subdue the creature thrashing on top of her.
“Calm down, soldier!” she yells into its ear and tightens her grip around its throat.
Time both slows and hastens as the thing on top of her continues to thrash. The central thought of subduing the soldier on top of her permeates her mind, but another thought enters and she is thankful for the daily workouts in the gym as the thing on top latches onto her right arm around its throat and pulls attempting to break her grip.
Damn, he’s strong, she thinks as she feels her choke hold weaken.
She brings her left hand up to her right arm to add strength to her grip and feels the hold tighten up once again. The being on top of her whips its head wildly about, but the adrenaline coursing through her adds strength and the thrashing becomes less pronounced until it stops completely, becoming a dead weight on her chest.
Lynn releases her grip and rolls the creature off and to the left. She gets to her knees and reaches over to the limp form now lying face down on the floor beside her, checking quickly for a pulse. Finding one, she scans the armory interior before crawling over to the injured soldier who is now sitting with his left hand to his cheek. Streams of blood run between his fingers and drip onto his fatigue shirt.
“You four, make sure he stays subdued. Let me know the instant he starts coming around,” she says startling the four out of their trance and points to the unconscious form on the ground.
“Here, let me see that,” she says to the bleeding soldier.
As he withdraws his hand, she sees a chunk of flesh has been taken out of his left cheek and is bleeding freely as facial wounds will. Lynn removes her fatigue shirt and t-shirt underneath pressing the t-shirt against his wound.
“Hold that tight,” she says, replacing her fatigue top.
The corporal turns his head and look into her eyes. His eyes are wide with fear and adrenaline. “Thanks, sergeant,” he says, pressing his hand to the t-shirt and holds it in place.
“No worries, corporal,” she replies and looks to the door, noticing heads poking into the room.
; “Go find me some speed tape,” she says to a group peeking in. The heads disappear.
Lynn then sits with a heavy sigh and looks closer over the lit interior. Racks of weapons line the middle interior and walls. There are also crates stacked at intervals throughout the room. There is no sign of movement, and she glances back at the three enlisted men and one woman around the unconscious form on the floor. One of the men is holding the form’s arms at its back while another sits on its legs. Standing, Lynn takes a couple of steps over to assess.
“Roll him onto his back,” she says, wanting to get a look at him.
Releasing his hold on the arms, one of the soldiers rolls it face up. There is a unified gasp as the attacker is shown in the bright lights. Its skin is a pale ashen gray, mottled by darker gray patches both large and small with a patch of bright red blood splashed on the lips and skin around the mouth. Thinking she has killed the soldier, Lynn reaches out again to check for a pulse. The skin feels clammy and cool to the touch, almost as if it should be wet. Her fingers come up dry though as she verifies a rapid pulse from its neck.
“What happened to him?” one of the privates asks, gazing down with wide eyes and raised eyebrows at the still form.
“I don’t know,” she says, thinking it must have something to do with the vaccinations or the flu itself.
Perhaps that’s why they stopped the vaccinations, she thinks.
She hears steps behind her and turns her head over her shoulder to see another soldier approach with a roll of duct tape in his hand.
“I found some, first sergeant,” he says and hands it to her.
Rolling the thing on its back once more, they bind its hands and ankles.
“Get him outside,” she says as they finish up.
“Clear a path!” she yells to the group at the entrance and the room beyond.
Lynn follows behind as they carry the body, two grabbing under the arms and another at the feet. She hears several muted gasps as others see the body for the first time. They carry it outside.
“Set him down,” she says, pointing to a spot of deeper sand just away from the building. “And find something to shade him with.” Emerging from the shadow of the building, with the entire group in tow, they set the still unconscious body on the sand.
“What happened in there, Sergeant Connell?” Major Bannerman asks once they are outside in the bright sun and fierce heat.
The question falls on deaf ears as Lynn and the rest are staring at the figure and the immediate transformation it is going through. The exposed skin of the face begins to redden becoming like an instant sunburn. The thing’s eyes pop open and it begins to howl and shriek. It is thrashing wildly, its back arching up as though in extreme pain. The skin’s redness darkens even further, to the point where it seems like it should be smoking. The ear-piercing shrieks continue non-stop, all happening within seconds.
“Get it inside!” Lynn yells above the shrieks and takes a step toward it to help.
Before her second step, the wild arching subsides and it falls limply to the ground as the shrieking abruptly ends. She drops to her knees beside the limp form checking for a pulse but finds none. The skin is extremely warm and dry to her touch.
“He’s dead,” she says, looking back over her shoulder at the group and Major Bannerman. Standing, Lynn then answers Bannerman’s question and relates the events inside, giving more of an overview than a detailed description.
“Sir, may I speak?” she asks after finishing her description. Major Bannerman leads her away from the group.
“Sir, I think we may be dealing with some kind of reaction to either the vaccination or the flu itself. It, whatever it is, has caused them to become hostile and attack others. Apparently, the transformation makes them sensitive to light, or outside light at least,” she says, pulling several facts together.
“Considering everything, they seem to be active at night and we found this one in a darkened room along with its reaction to the outside light. I think we should deal with them as hostiles until we know better.”
“Good idea, sergeant,” Bannerman says, “We’ll draw weapons and hole up in the TOC until help arrives.”
“Sir, I’m not sure help is coming if this is associated with the vaccinations. The whole world was inoculated or at least exposed to the virus. And, I tried calling almost everyone back at Lewis along with several other installations. No one answered,” Lynn states.
“What’s your suggestion then, Sergeant Connell? How are we going to get out of here?” Bannerman asks.
“I suggest we arm up, gather water and rations, and hole up in the tower at the airfield. It will have telephones along with radios to contact any aircraft. Plus, it’s easily defendable. We have plenty of food and water here if things are truly a worst case scenario,” Lynn replies. “We can hold out here for five days and, if no help arrives, then we can load up vehicles with rations, fuel, and ammo and evaluate the best route and destination.”
“Very good, sergeant. That sounds good to me,” Bannerman says and turns back to the group.
Thoughts of their surreal situation form in Lynn’s mind. This may be similar to the very situations that Jack, her, and a few others discussed as wild, ‘what if’ scenarios. What would they do if a zombie invasion happened?
Is this really something global? she thinks. I hope Jack is okay. Will he actually come pick me up as we discussed? This is too weird to think about, but the tower is a logical place to go in any case.
Back at the group, who are mostly staring at the limp body lying in the sand, Major Bannerman addresses them and details the plan.
“What about leaving now, sir?” a voice asks from somewhere in the group.
“It’s a deathtrap here, sir,” another calls out.
“I think the best idea is to stay here until we get more info,” Bannerman says and turns to Lynn. “Sergeant Connell, see to the weapon dispersal.”
“Yes, sir. You four, with me,” Lynn says, pointing out four enlisted. “We’re going to clear the armory, and then it’s the same plan as before.”
After making sure the injured soldier is treated, Lynn and the four soldiers enter into the armory again. She gathers them at the armory doors.
“Wedge formation. We’ll draw weapons at the first rack and then proceed to clear the room. Heads on a swivel. No firing if your line of sight isn’t clear; use the butt of your weapon,” Lynn says.
She details positions for the others; two in front, with two on the sides, putting herself in the middle to help out on either side. “Everything clear?”
“Yes, first sergeant,” they answer and proceed inside.
The weapons inside stand in mute silence. The detail detects no movement as they move warily to the first rack of M-16s. The soldiers are tense, heads moving constantly. They draw weapons, and although expecting something, no sounds or attacks greet them on their journey through the room. All is silent. They clear the room and proceed back to the door.
Lynn has the detail keep watch as each group enters to get their weapons. She shoulders her weapon and picks up the clipboard, annotating each weapon as it is gathered. Once all weapons are drawn, she details Drescoll to get the Humvees and the other soldiers to carry ammo crates outside.
“Sir, I suggest we stop at the TOC and police up the Intel. We can then form into groups to police up other Intel, gather rations and medical supplies, and other personal gear in the barracks,” Lynn says after crates of ammunition, NVGs, and extra weapons are loaded into the vehicles once Sergeant Drescoll returns with them.
“Okay, sergeant, see to it,” Bannerman responds. Gathering the group around her, Lynn gives vehicle assignments, order of travel, and instructions to meet at the TOC.
“Be sure to look for stragglers. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with. Report on the radio any sign of movement with location and numbers,” she adds and everyone disperses to their assigned vehicles.
They arrive at the TOC without further inci
dent. Exiting her vehicle, Lynn directs four Humvees to block the wide, sandy avenue in front and stand guard, positioning two in each direction down the road facing outward several buildings away. Then, she allocates a detail of soldiers led by Sergeant Drescoll and two Humvees to find and gather water and food, setting their return for two hours hence. Major Bannerman opts to leave with the detail party, leaving Lynn in charge of the TOC operations. The two Humvees head out, leaving a trail of dust in the still air behind them, the sound of their engines fading as they head away from the TOC.
Meeting up with the specialist and private she left at the TOC, Lynn assigns them and two additional soldiers to head inside and gather up the Intel. She then assigns Specialist Taylor, a communications specialist, to stay in one of the Humvees parked in front of the TOC to monitor the radios and keep in contact with the detail party. She also tells the remaining soldiers to stand watch around the TOC before heading down the road to one of the Humvee pairs to check on them.
Arriving at the Humvees with the heat of the day truly building up, she checks on the soldiers and talks with them for a few moments. Looking back toward the TOC, she notices several of the soldiers grouped around one of the Humvees and, oddly, Specialist Taylor standing away from the Humvee and his assignment with another small group. Looking farther up the road, she notices that the two Humvees that were guarding the other end are nowhere in sight.
What the fuck, she thinks, turning back to the soldiers she is standing next to. “You know anything about what’s going on?” Lynn asks the group staring down the road with her.
She has put a quick picture together and suspects the worst.
“No, first sergeant,” they reply without taking their eyes from the road.
Lynn returns to the TOC. When she is halfway back, she sees one group pile into one of the Humvees and hears it start up. Her stride becomes a run as the doors to the Humvee close. Lynn arrives in front of the TOC with sweat dripping down her forehead just as the Humvee begins to pull away.
