Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse

by Robert Morganbesser

  “Relax,” he announced. “Smoke em if you got em. I’m going to explain the next mission.”

  Behind him, Captain Miklos put up a large map of New York Harbor. As soon as it was up, she stood by his side. Fully armed, Miklos wanted to go on this mission, but Diggs wasn’t sure he wanted her to go. He relied heavily on her. She was clear headed and could work under stress that would (and had) killed an ordinary person. He would probably lose this argument, since she said he needed her to go on this mission, to be his eyes. She was probably right.

  “After a recent message from GI, Command has decided to move up the timetable to retake it. Command isn't sure how much longer we're going to be able to hold here. The evacuation of Staten Island is complete, the Queens border is a war zone, and the last units from the Bronx have been withdrawn. All we’re holding is part of Manhattan and Brooklyn.”

  Diggs turned to the map. “Governor’s Island is easily defendable and can be supplied by sea or air. As some of you know, over a month ago, civilian mutineers took over the island. No one expected it; quite a few of our people were killed. Now the mutineers are trapped there, supplies are low, but they did capture a sizeable amount of ordnance. Among the ordnance were stingers so an aerial assault is out. The assault team will go in by boat just before dawn.

  Sergeant Bowman nearly rolled his eyes at this. “Do they have the old small boat station under their control?”

  Diggs turned slightly so he could look at Bowman. He knew the sergeant by reputation if not by face and knew he would be a key part of the assault. “They do. We can’t bomb the docks because they’ll be needed. The assault will land on the opposite side of the island. When we receive word the armory’s been taken or the mutineers neutralized, a second wave will come in on choppers.”

  Bowman relaxed slightly. He didn’t mind going in when airpower would be there for them.

  Diggs stared at the men and women who would be in the assault. “Originally, the general order for this mission was going to be; kill anyone on that island. Alive or zombie, they’re the enemy. Since then we’ve learned that not all the civvies were in on the mutiny. Sea patrol picked up a wounded escapee. He claimed that anyone not with the mutineers had been taken to another part of the island. So go in with caution, if it’s a trick, then the original order stands. Don’t bother with prisoners; this is to be a clean sweep.”

  There was a string of mutterings in hushed voices. Captain Miklos stared down at the assembly. “These people revolted and killed fellow troopers. They don’t deserve any compassion other than a bullet in the head. Is there anyone in the room who can’t follow this order? Speak up and you’ll be relieved.” Miklos waited. ”If the mutineers are holding prisoners, we’ll keep them out of harms way. Other than that…” She left the rest of her threat unsaid.

  No one answered, but it was clear some of the troops were uncomfortable. Diggs put a hand on the Captain’s shoulder. He made a decision right then that would make her happy. “Captain Miklos will be leading the assault.”

  Bowman rose to his feet. “Captain, how are we going to tell mutineers from captives?”

  Miklos stood there, a blank expression on her face. Finally, she said, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  Diggs brought out a cigar and lit it. “Get some rest, people. The assault’s set for the day after tomorrow. Captain, I need to see you before you leave.”

  Miklos stood near Digg’s desk as the Colonel poured himself two fingers of scotch (she didn’t drink) and lit a cigar. “Sheryl, I can’t tell you how important this mission is. We’re losing ground in the city every day. A lot of our important gear and personnel have been seconded to various Enclaves. We need a safe site in this area to run missions from; Governor’s Island is it. I’m sure there are still people holding out in the city, they deserve a chance.”

  Sheryl nodded, “I understand, sir. We’ll take that fucking island. The 22nd is made up of good people.”

  Diggs took a long puff on the cigar. “You know, in normal times you’d never be in charge of a mission like this, Captain. Would you trade this for a return to the way things were?”

  Sheryl didn’t hesitate as she answered, “In a stone cold minute, Colonel.”

  17 February 2032

  The Assault

  Governor’s Island

  The civilians thought that things would be great on the island without a military presence; that they could be their own bosses. They turned out to be dead wrong. Within days of driving out the Army and Coast Guard personnel, factions developed. Along with the factions came violence. One group shot down a military helicopter, killing all aboard. Not thinking about the bodies, which revived and were roaming the island, they hadn’t taken into account those civilians who were ill and died without warning. Another faction was against the revolt in the first place. These people were quickly disarmed and imprisoned. The mutineers hadn’t thought about food and medical supplies. The island had been due for a major resupply the day after the mutiny. This never took place. Since the military wasn’t bringing in supplies, things ran short quickly. Without any kind of boats or the good graces of the military who commanded the air and sea space, they were being starved out. None of the assault team knew that the group in control of the armory had turned to cannibalism (they’d discovered that bullets made a poor food substitute); so far, recon hadn’t discovered where the other group was laid up.

  The mutineers either didn’t realize or care that when the military returned, it would be with a vindictive, not conciliatory nature.

  In the landing well of the U.S.S Pensacola, twelve RHIB (rubber boats with an aluminum hull) were floating. Each one carried six fully armed soldiers, who were ready to take out their anger on these civilians. They heard tales of horror from the Coasties who had escaped. Now it was time for the mutineers to pay the price. The exhausts of each boats twin engines were under the water to muffle their noise. The Pensacola was like a baby flattop. Its upper decks held several helicopters, in this case, Sea Cobras and Sea Kings. The Cobras looked like dragonflies and were extremely deadly. Carrying miniguns and a 40mm grenade launcher in a turret under the chin, they could also be armed with several different types of missiles and rockets as a mission required. These choppers would be on standby for the assault teams to call in. While Command wanted the island taken with as little damage as possible, realists understood that those in the assault team were more important than any buildings. Buildings were easy to replace, living humans these days, not so easy.

  In the lead boat, Captain Miklos checked her M11B. An M11 with a collapsible stock, the silencer on it made the weapon just over two and a half feet long. Loaded with 5.56 mm hollow point bullets, she had two magazines clipped together for easy reloads. Like the rest of the team, she wore body armor, but no one was wearing gasmasks. They carried them but right now, they needed unimpaired vision. Last evening, while getting ready, the intell officer passed on the latest information. A camera-armed drone had buzzed the island taking pictures. Civilians were still alive, but there were also zombies present. Miklos decided it was time to give some final orders.

  “We’re heading out in five minutes people. I want everyone frosty and remember this; we were dumping civilians there so fast, there wasn’t time to take an accurate count. We do not know how many are alive. Could be all the captives and mutineers are zombies now. I don’t want to write any letters this time, so keep your eyes open. Roger me?”

  “Roger!”

  Without the usual warning klaxon, the aft ramp of the Pensacola lowered revealing the mostly dark outline of the island. Some parts of it still had power, the lines coming from the New York state grid. Behind it, the city of New York stood quiet and sullen in the pre-dawn darkness. In daytime smoke from various fires could be seen. Now, without the light of day the city was a shadow of it’s former self, a corpse of what had once been the jewel of the East Coast.

  Miklos made sure her weapons were ready at a moments notice.
Among the other five troopers in her boat, one was a navy Lieutenant. Don Jericho was their FO, forward observer. The radio he carried on his back was their lifeline to Diggs here on the Pensacola. It would also allow him to call in air strikes as well as medevacs. Miklos considered the navy officer more important than herself. He was dressed like the other troopers in black Battle Dress Utility’s and carried a .45 and a short-barreled shotgun. When he first met Sheryl she’d been sizing him up, giving him a look that said, “Why can’t an army officer do this job?” He grinned and put out his hand. Before she knew it, he’d flipped her ass over head. She’d gotten up angry and he’d tossed her again. When she got up the second time, Jericho smiled and said, “Do I pass the audition?” She laughed, replying, “I guess you’ll do.”

  Now, she was thinking, he’d better. If, as was usual in most operations lately, the shit hit the fan, he could be their only way out.

  With a tremble that could be felt through the hull of the boat, the assault team moved out. In the lead boat, Andy Cappoletti held his sniper rifle close. The long dark tube of a sniper scope sat atop it. Like most sneak attacks, they were coming in the wee hours of the morning, the time when even the best-trained humans grew tired.

  As the bulk of the mostly dark island grew closer, Cappoletti stared ahead. They were going to beach their boats on the shore closest to the Statue of Liberty, tie them off, and clamber ashore.

  Miklos stared ahead at the island. She’d been there years ago with her father (mercifully dead before the plague began) and found it an interesting place. Originally an Army base, it was later transferred to the Coast Guard, and for a while one of their prime east coast bases. Docks for small boats, radar for controlling NY shipping traffic and a good comms net made it desirable for the military. It also was safe from zombies unless they walked across the bottom of the river.

  The lead boat bumped off some rocks. Quickly two troopers jumped out, and splashed across the shallow water dragging lines. Securing the boat, they moved out, weapons ready. Cappoletti followed them, pausing every few feet to scan. Suddenly he stopped. “Movement.”

  That one word froze the entire assault team. Cappoletti took careful aim and fired. The dark figure went down instantly. Quickly two troopers moved out to check. “Captain, Cappoletti here.”

  “Go.”

  “One dead zombie, female teenager looks emaciated. No external wounds. It looks like she starved.”

  “Roger, let’s get moving people. Stay frosty. There’s no knowing what’s on this island. Could be everyone’s dead.”

  “We should be so lucky,” mumbled Bowman.

  Quickly the teams hopped over the railing near the roadway, flattening out, keeping watch as the rest of the force joined them. As soon as all the members checked in, Miklos pulled out her map, coated in UV ink so she could read it with her night vision goggles in place, and started thinking about what to do next.

  Miklos clicked her radio. “We’ll take the school first. There’s a large playing field near it, once we secure the school we’ll go for the armory. Then we’ll get some choppers in here.”

  Rising she made sure her weapon was ready. “Bowman takes the left flank, Cappoletti on the right. Let’s move out.”

  The island was quiet but that didn’t mean much. Zombies didn’t move unless they knew food was around and the mutineers were likely staying low. When the civilians mutinied, no one knew why – the few Coasties who escaped set a fire that burned the main supply building to the ground. That little act of sabotage took out much of the islands food supplies, leaving the mutineers and their supposed hostages in desperate straights. The leader of the escapees, Bosun’s Mate Third John Rando told the army it was some small revenge for friends killed during the civilian uprising.

  Rando was with them now, armed and armored like the rest. He was their on site expert to see if the small boat station was still useable. Some of the civilians involved in the mutiny were at the station. Early in their revolt, these few tried to deal with the military. To get an agreement that would have some kind of leniency for them. Their attempt was too little, too late. With the deaths of over fifty military personnel on their hands, there would be none. Death would be the only reward for these traitors.

  With garden work a low priority, the decorative bushes around the island grew wild, giving good cover to the invaders. As they crossed through a line of them onto a road – also in disrepair, Bowman stared at what had been officer’s row - a line of houses for Lieutenant Commanders and above, all had been partially burned. The sergeant held his rifle a bit tighter and stared at the devastation; how could anyone, in a time like this, do such things? Didn’t these idiots know that humanity needed unity more than ever?

  Suddenly a shadow flitted before him. Moving quickly, Bowman swept out a leg, bringing the unknown person down. It was a young man, barely out of his teens. Eyes glazed over, it snarled and tried to rise. Swinging his rifle up and down, Bowman cracked its skull.

  “Bowman here.”

  Miklos was on the radio instantly. “Go ahead.”

  “I’ve brought down a hostile, zombie. Appears emaciated. I don’t think it was dead long.”

  Miklos blinked for a second; then replied. “Continue on course, all personnel – eyes open.”

  There were no lights at the public school. The generator that powered the island was near the Armory, so those in charge of that had cut the other factions off from power, the better to keep the generator running. The men and women of the SADT crawled on their bellies across the playing field, cautious of anything. Miklos, in the middle stopped them when they were fifty yards from the schools entrance. Flipping her NVG’s down over her face, she peered forward. Flipping the goggles up, she stared at the cities outline. A few lights shone in sporadic spots below what they called the DMZ. Above it, she could see the glow of fires. There had been an airstrike north of 85th street yesterday afternoon, where thousands of zombies were gathered. Looking back at the school, Miklos made a decision.

  “Bowman, Gregg, Nance; go forward and scope things out. Cappoletti, you, Bryce and Fernandez, be ready with covering fire. Jericho - you still with us?”

  “Roger that,” the calm voice of the naval officer replied. “I’ve got two Cobras ready when we need them.”

  “Good,” replied Miklos. “Keep them ready. Scout team, go!”

  Bowman crossed the grass to the school’s entrance, rifle up and ready to use it. As he pushed the door open, he froze. The smell from inside was horrendous, a mix of shit and rotting flesh. Gregg nearly stumbled into Bowman, not ready for the man’s sudden stop. The two of them stared at the hallway before them. Puddles of dried blood, bones, and some barely animate corpses littered the area before them. Bowman backed away, staring at one corpse that was only a head and part of a shoulder. The head opened its mouth and clacked its jaws together.

  Nance, carrying a SAW, had stopped outside the doorway when the other two stopped. Seeing them backing out of the hallway, Nance dropped the bipod on his rifle and fell prone, calling on his radio, “Captain, Nance! Something’s wrong here. We need support!”

  Miklos rose to her feet. “Everyone forward! SAW’s get ready to lay down covering fire!” Miklos was rushing forward with the rest of her people when Bowman’s voice came over the radio, “Cool down people. Things are all right. Gregg and I saw something we weren’t prepared for. It’s safe to move in.”

  17 February 2032

  22nd SADT

  Public School

  Governor’s Island

  Miklos waited as her team swept the entire school building. They all came back with the same report; no one left alive. Many of the rooms had been cleared of anything burnable. More bones were discovered, along with more living heads; but the bodies showed signs that they had been carved. Miklos stomach turned, this was evidence that some on the island had gone cannibal.

  Miklos was getting ready to head for the small boat station when a frantic voice came over the comset,
“Captain! I hear noises!”

  Miklos jumped to her feet. “Who is this? Identify!”

  “It’s Gregg, Captain! I’m by the boiler room entrance in the rear of the building. I hear banging from inside the room.”

  “Keep clear of that door Gregg! I’m sending reinforcements.” Grabbing her rifle from the desk she’d set it on, Miklos called into her mike, “Cappoletti, Foster, Saunders, Bryce! Get to that boiler room, now!”

  Gregg backed five meters from the door, rifle aimed at it. He also loosened one of his grenades. As he crouched, he didn’t notice a second door behind him. This one, slightly askew opened, releasing a small horde of ravenous undead. These creatures were more horrible than most, the meatier parts of their bodies carved off, leaving enough intact to be dangerous. Gregg, staring intently at the first door, was unaware of their presence until a groping hand, cold and clammy, slid across his face. With a scream, he was dragged down the creatures digging their nails into his face. One hand tightened on his weapon, firing off the entire magazine as he was blinded, nails digging into his eyes, their lust for his flesh unstoppable. Two went down with shattered legs before the weapon ran dry. By then Greg was dead, his throat torn open, the creatures greedily pulling him apart, shoving his warm, bloody flesh into their fetid maws.

  At the sound of booted feet those creatures who couldn’t get to the feast turned. Bryce turned the corner, froze for a second, and opened fire. One of the creatures, face untouched but body ravaged went down, head destroyed. Others hissed and began lurching toward her. Backing away, Bryce kept firing, waiting for a chance to run. She wouldn’t need it. Nance, cradling his SAW, as some would handle a guitar, came up behind her. Without pausing, he shouted, “DOWN!”

  Bryce hit the ground as Nance fired. The shells smashed into the zombies, breaking bones and spines, scattering them down the corridor and away. Nance agreed with Miklos, the best way to handle zombies that were too close was overwhelming firepower. Knock the bastards down; then destroy them. Bullets sparked off the boiler room door, breaking the lock, opening it. Five zombies, all in very bad shape, came staggering out. As Nance started to reload, Cappoletti and two other riflemen appeared. Skidding to a stop, Cappoletti brought two down in a heartbeat; the other three quickly destroyed by rifle fire. Cautiously the team moved forward. All were well aware that some of the bastards could play possum and wait for prey to get closer. As they moved into the boiler room, they found an appalling display; a pile of heads, all alive, branded with the disgusting Lazarite diamond.