“We’ll talk. Have fun with your next dog and pony show.”
My next lecture, number six, was not for three hours and by now, I had the presentation down, so to kill some time, I wandered around yet again. Since I wasn’t in the military, I didn’t salute. I had it down to this curt nod. The higher the rank I thought you were, the more pronounced the nod. Everyone seemed to have something to do, so nobody paid much attention to me. It helped that my badge got me through the few places on the ship where they bothered to check them. I got to some outside stairs and saw something I thought I would never see: an honest-to-god real nuclear submarine that was not docked and charged admission. She was surfaced and a little bit back of the Truman, so I started to move to get a better view. The submariners have been trained for long periods of crowded isolation. They may be the sanest people in our whole group.
I don’t know what caused me to stop, maybe it was all the guys with automatic weapons, but I did and started watching several other sailors fussing over a long silvery grey cylinder.
“May I help you, sir?”
I spun around to face two marines. “Sorry, I was curious.”
“You have to keep moving, sir, or should I say Machete Man!” The taller of the two broke into a huge smile. “We knew you were on board. You went through some badass shit, dude!”
“You said it, brother,” said the smaller guy and they fist bumped. Where the hell have I heard that accent before?
“Guys, uh.” And I tipped my head to the other group. “That’s a nuke? Right?”
“Yes sir. Payback gonna be a real bitch.” It was the shorter guy again. “That, sir, is a B61 thermonuclear weapon; variable yield, may be used for both tactical and strategic purposes, designed for air, ground, and laydown detonation. That is one bad day waiting to happen.”
“So we are going to nuke ourselves?”
“Don’t know about that, but everything topside is locked down. Seems like we are about to lay down some serious shit on New York. Bridges and tunnels go bye-bye tonight.”
“Thanks, guys.” We shook hands again and I took off to find either my room or the lecture hall, whichever came first. Holy crap! So the bridges and tunnels are getting hit tonight. Give them a couple of days for assessment, then in maybe four days, depending on weather, we nuke.
I ran into this little lounge-esque area with some padded chairs and sat down. And so it starts. Let’s see; I have been across the Verrazano-Narrows, Throgs Neck and the Queensboro, but never the Brooklyn. How many bridges in all? Maybe half a dozen, no clue about how many tunnels. You know, if I was a pilot, this might be some big fun to blow some serious shit up, unless of course I grew up in this area, then the mission might suck. Then we nuke. Then we invade. Man, do I hope someone has really thought this through. Me? I get to stand on the sidelines and watch it all go down.
At my next talk, the room was full, all young males. My best guess is that virtually everyone was of the same rank, one bar, lieutenants. The talk had already been taped, so now it was going to be beamed live. I was never told exactly where this was being beamed to, but beamed it was. The Q&A time was also unusual. Instead of the questions being all over the map, these guys were focused on the practical applications of my knowledge and experience to the battlefield. Do they always attack in a straight line? Do they stay focused once prey has been identified? What attracts them more, sound or movement? What about odor? Can they open doors? If so, what type? Tool use? How do they recognize each other? Do they sleep? Any signs of leadership or hierarchy? Can you make them form a horde? What is their roar like and is it always the same? Do you think they have any memory or skill sets from their former life? Well, so much for being an expert. My standard reply quickly became, “I don’t know.”
“Guys, and whoever else is watching, all I can really tell you can be summed up in four words; shit will go down. The archetype of these zombies is that there is no archetype. They are as unique as each of us. They also happen to be bat shit insane and just a bit dead-like. Oh, and one other piece of prudent advice: bring lots and lots of bullets.”
After the talk, I was informed that with all the changes going on, my road show was a no go for tomorrow and I was on hold. Basically, I was told to hang out. So, that was my lecture/consultant/zombie expert career with the navy. I now had nothing to do. Everyone was so focused on the invasion of Long Island and I was expected just to stay available and out of the way. And there was Robert.
“I guess this is it. Time for me to go. Buckaroo, you have made some strides.” He seemed in good spirits.
“I don’t know, Robert. Things are starting to get surreal.”
“Just wait, the real crazy is right around the bend. John, are you sure? Is it Elizabeth?” He stopped me in my tracks with that one. What the hell did he mean, Elizabeth?
“Yes, it is. Don’t imagine it’s me doing a Freudian Todestrieb thing, Robert. I want to see how they react to massive firepower. I don’t know why, but I think something interesting will happen Anyway, I will be anything but near the front.”
“Bullshit! You will come see me when this particular bout of insanity is in remission?”
“Only during visiting hours. Robert. I am coming back from this one, no problem. I mean holy cow, I have the whole Marine Corps behind me. There ain’t no way no zombie is getting close to me. I have to see this, because it could be important.”
“Or you want it to be important. Bullshit, anything comes out of this! John, pull back. It’s no longer your war, our war. John, No Rodeo.” Now of all times Robert is getting almost emotional, shit.
Very slowly, I said, “It is an indulgence on my part. If I am lucky, I will get to choose the place and time.” I gave him a hug. “Right now, I think I can find my way around a bunch of guys with big guns.” Okay, so now I am ready to cry, you bastard.
“God speed, John Patrick. You go, watch and tell me the tales of what you saw.” And with that, Robert and I embraced again and parted. Good bye, Robert.
Chapter 15 ~ A Bright Light
June 17-19th
For the next three days, I ate, read, watched movies, and slept. I did see Roland in the cafeteria just as he was leaving. He simply winked, gave me a smile and a thumbs up. The marines were getting active and they were always doing something (exercises, drills, football, soccer) on the now rarely used flight deck. I had to be alert because it was getting easier and easier to believe that Maine happened a long time ago. Since I finished one Pynchon, and discovered that you can actually be bored during an apocalypse, I would start another, and again venture into the world of Gravities Rainbow.
One breakfast, I sat with some guys who worked IT or something. They told me there had just been a disaster during a rescue attempt. They were working on another project in central ops and they overheard the whole thing. It seems the navy has stepped up recon on ‘The City’ and surrounding area since the decision to go ahead with the Long Island plan. So far, over thirty successful missions and three hundred plus rescued, but all from outlying areas. Nothing was coming out of the dense urban zones. I did have access to this information. The survivors all came from small fortified groups. They were ordinary people who were in the right place at the right time, did the right thing and were lucky. None was ‘Doomsday Preppers’ or any kind of survivalist. I also learned that the ISS was still manned by three Russians who decided to keep going as long as they could; didn’t hurt that the last cargo mission was after the plague had started and carried a special shipment of Stolichnaya. Good for them.
Then the story got interesting. Against all odds, a group of twenty-one was alive in one of those high-rises right off of Central Park. They had secured the top three floors by throwing anything they could find into the various fire escapes. It blocked them in. They were safe, but the clock was ticking. I don’t know what happened to the first chopper, maybe wind. Well, it hit something and went down. The pilot and co-pilot were hurt but alive. The two paramedics in the back were dead
. They said thousands of the undead surrounded the chopper. They couldn’t break through the helicopter’s windshield and by now there were too many of them to gain any leverage. We knew exactly where they were, west, 105th street between Central Park West and Manhattan Ave., but they might as well be on the moon. Second rescue chopper made it in and picked up seven, the third eight. A fourth, the last chopper went in and was overrun. The IT dude said everyone was on and they were just lifting off when the chopper was taken.
“The audio was insane, man. Seconds, it took only seconds and those guys were screwed. From the video feed, it looked like a sea of zombies rushing in. All the pilot could utter was something like, ‘what the…’” He just looked down and shook his head.
“How did the zombies get in? What about the pilots on the ground?”
“No clue how they got in. A couple of AH-64 Apaches were sent. Those guys were not going to be left behind, not trapped like that. Besides, it won’t be particularly good places to hang out come tomorrow.”
“You’ll get no beef from me on that one.” I thought about the people that I had seen trapped in their cars, defenseless. How long would it take me before dehydration, exhaustion and fear had me opening the door? Not the way I wanted to go. “What about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Don’t you know? Tomorrow, everything changes.”
The next day was going to be special, the kind of special that makes history, for good or bad. The United States military, under orders from whoever is in control of the government, was going to drop nuclear bombs on United States soil. Not just any soil; the boroughs of Brooklyn and Queens were to be hit with three bombs, airburst for maximum damage; I wasn’t told what the yield was going to be. It was decided to do the detonations during the day. A night explosion would have been visually spectacular, but there was concern about the moral and psychological implications. I found out later that some people in powers wanted to do the operation without telling the general population. Just have some planes take off, big boom, it’s over. In the small city that is the Harry Truman, the odds of pulling off such a maneuver in secret were exactly zero. An interesting thing happened, once it became general knowledge. The event turned into something to be treated with the utmost respect and reverence. This was not a joke. Chapel services were going twenty-four seven and even though invasion preparations set everyone at a frantic pace, the general demeanor was one of curious politeness. No one smiled or laughed but this unthinkable event was forcing everyone to live in the moment. From the cooks all the way to the pilots (as a ‘consultant’ I could eat almost anywhere I wanted) there was a palpable sense of focus. They continued to drop all sorts of noisemakers on a large swath of southern Long Island, to bring in as many for the kill as possible. We lost a Blackhawk and crew today while on a meteorological mission.
The navy was prepared to wait until the weather, particularly the winds, was perfect. They got everything they wanted on day one. For maybe the first time since The War of 1812, the US was making a major military decision based on things happening in Canada. A large weather front was predicted to head our way bringing lots of rain and a strong southern wind. After that, the best weather models indicated a long stretch of stable dry weather. Here we go.
June 20th
It was one of those mornings when you wake up, I mean you really wake up and are ready to go. It didn’t feel like Easter or your birthday or that something special was going on. It just felt odd. I skipped breakfast and made my way to a small balcony on the port side of the ship. A dozen civilians and a couple of navy guys soon joined me. This is where I was told to go, so I went and would have a great view. They gave us dark tinted goggles and a general rundown about the size of the blast, which was big and the amount of energy the blast gave off, which was huge, the massive damage it would do and why. At this point in the game, I think most of us were aware of the zombie problem. Then we chitchatted and waited. They told us there was not much danger from the EMP due to low yield and low altitude of detonation. The ship’s intercom kept a running update on distance to target for the first jet, first bomb.
Suddenly, some stuff was said in rapid fire and a countdown started. When it reached zero, a new sun grew on the horizon. Even with the goggles and more than twenty-five miles away, it was impossibly bright and incredibly beautiful. Goodbye Queens, goodbye to the Coney Island I would never visit. It took about twenty minutes before you could clearly see this twisty ribbon of black extending way up in the troposphere. It looked like this sick finger pointing to heaven. An hour or so later, a great part of Brooklyn and Flushing Meadows were gone. I was more of a fan of Wimbledon and the French Open but it would have been fun to have gone to the US Open. Sorry, but I don’t think most people in the US know they play tennis in Australia. Two hours after that, the last one was dropped and the show was over. During the whole time, I just hogged a section of railing and stared mutely at the horizon. To be honest, I really didn’t give a damn about Queens and Brooklyn. I had never been there and I didn’t know anyone from there. I just couldn’t shake this sense that we had just crossed some messed-up Rubicon and I had no clue if it was a good or bad thing.
In less than an hour after the first blast, there were already all kinds of data and computer generated damage projections and radiation issues. It would be the same for the second and third, and by the third blast, it was clear that southern Long Island had gotten the living shit kicked out of it. Sunset that night was just shades of grey and black with a slight stench of something like rubbish burning. Zombies aside, it will be a very long time before you can visit Manhattan as a normal human being. Once the sunset, the live videos were starting to give a glimpse of the true extent of the destruction. The two boroughs were gone. There were thousands upon thousands of fires, just like the WWII videos of fire bombings in Europe and Japan. Across the East River, more of The City was on fire as well as areas of New Jersey and Connecticut.
June 21st
I woke up, thinking that now the easy part was over and in a couple of days, the bloody part starts. I lay for hours assessing the various scenarios. By the end of tomorrow, we should know how much of the plan worked. For the past week, there have been dozens of near shore exercises. You go in close, make a lot of noise, and mow down any zombie that comes near. The tactic was sound and very successful, thousands and thousands of zombies were eliminated without the loss of a single human life. It had been used on the Vineyard and Nantucket essentially to clear the islands before you set foot on dry land. This also meant that thousands and thousands of zombies were washed into the ocean just to bloat and float somewhere else. Now there was a push to do the same with Long Island. The problem was one of size. Long Island is not small. It is over one hundred miles long and twenty some odd wide in many places. A shitload of zombies are also left on the island. Plan estimates were around two to three million. However, this was yet another WAG, since for reasons that have yet to be explained, we have a hard time seeing them when they are not moving, especially at night. There are a whole lot of people eating a whole lot of food everyday, 24/7, and the fleet was running out. They simply could not wait a month.
I had breakfast with several guys who were involved with the Nantucket clearing and the first words out of their mouths floored me. Part of the fleet was being sent to join another battle group that was to do something with Newport News. WTF? Later on, they explained to me the military’s strict inventory control policy, a fancy way of saying organized looting. Everything, and they meant everything, went into an inventory system. For example, it wasn’t just a car, it was a 2009 Lexus LS460 in excellent condition, and then it would go on, GPS coordinates, the type of engine, tires, mileage, even the VIN number. The two most important boxes; does it run? How much gas?
“You have to watch these guys running around with their iPads tapping in every little thing. If you ask me, it’s more than inventory going into those computers. There’s also non-military with them, so watch out.” Hey, I’m non-mili
tary, and I have a beard!
The primary areas of interest were supermarkets, Sam’s Club, and Wal-Mart. Clean water, found in (wells, fresh water ponds, and natural springs. Energy, such as gasoline, propane, firewood, solar and wind and so called contraband, such as alcohol and tobacco, and drugs, pharmaceuticals and otherwise. Personal looting was not tolerated and if caught, you got hard labor on chain gangs doing all the things public works used to do, but by hand. Your portfolio and paper money now meant nothing. Contraband was king and cigarettes were the new gold standard. One of the guys mentioned he saw a sailor trade a gold watch for a carton. Long Island was a huge treasure chest just waiting to be opened. There was a lot of jockeying going on to be among the first to land, the first to kick zombie ass one-on-one and the first to secure certain items. I couldn’t blame them, because I was once a pirate.
June 22 - 25th
I spent the next few days doing my zombie song and dance to groups of soldiers, one after another. It made the days go by, keeping me busy, and in touch as to what was going on. The excitement got to the point where the enthusiasm had me, and not to go ashore in the first couple of waves was almost insulting. Hell, I’m a consultant. I had to see what was going to happen. It’s my job. I did have dinner with the Admiral on several occasions and thought about bringing it up, but I guess that I already knew the answer.
It’s not to say the Admiral and I didn’t have nice, interesting, and bizarre dinners. Chris was a good guy in a tough spot. He was big into backcountry camping so we connected and it built from there. We joked about various movies and novels and the points of interest, now lost to us. How can there not be a Brooklyn Bridge? How can there not be a New York? There came a moment I had to ask, “Admiral, do you think we can do this? Not just Long Island but…”
Brutal Planet: A Zombie Novel Page 27
