“Set up on the left side of the road. I’ll put the Bradley’s in a star formation, trucks in the middle.”
“Right, get moving, then we’ll lay out the kraal.”
As the Bradley’s herded the other trucks into the center of the star, all vehicles with weapons pointed out, squads of troops dismounted from the AFV’s and searched inside what would be the camp for any stray zombies. Using night vision scopes – infrared was useless against the zombies, unless they’d fed recently - they had little to no heat signature – they checked while Orphans Seven and Eight rolled out a collapsible, reusable barrier of concertina wire. It wasn’t the best defense against large numbers of zombies, but against small groups, up to a hundred or so, it worked fine. The morons would be caught up in it making them easy targets. Then when the trouble was over it could be cleaned off and rolled up for reuse. Sometimes they had to abandon the stuff, but it was cheap to make and was no big loss. To their east was a small cluster of abandoned homes and a convenience store. Long abandoned, Moreau wondered why it hadn’t been bombed or burned out.
As the kraal trucks finished laying out the wire, other soldiers set up motion-sensors. Each of the battery-powered devices was shaped like a claymore mine. Only a few of them were needed as they sent out their passive beams in an angled pattern. Within half an hour, the kraal was set. Richards sealed the ends of the wire with a locking mechanism; they were all tucked in for the night now. This done he went to find Moreau. Behind him, men and women took their duty stations and kept an eye out for their tireless enemy. That was the deciding difference between the living and the undead. The zombies never slept and were relentless in their search for victims. Humans were slowed by their need for food and rest. It made things uneven in this strange war.
Moreau was standing by her Bradley, a cup of instant coffee in her hand. Fortunately, they had plenty of MRE’s in case they found survivors. The hot topic over chow was the mad people in the farmhouse.
Kiley was shaking his head. “Those maniacs were feeding the zombies. One of them was talking about God’s Blessed. I didn’t think the Lazarites were around here yet.”
Moreau rubbed her chin. “Who was the man we lost?”
Kiley looked depressed. “Derking. He was a good guy. He wasn’t ten feet from those fucking things when he tripped in a hole in the floor. He never had a fucking chance!”
Moreau put a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault Kiley. Go get some rest.”
Kiley wandered off muttering about making someone pay.
Clemens tore open an MRE. “So now the Lazarites are here. Other Enclaves are having a lot of problems with them.”
Moreau shook her head. “I’m going to call the Enclave, talk to the Governor, and let him know. The council has to know about this. It’s bad enough fighting the zombies, some of us still think twice before shooting at another human.” Moreau was right, since the war began; soldiers had become ingrained to fighting the zombies, but killing humans? That might lead to problems.
Technical Specialist 5 Danielle ‘Dani’ Sharp was one of the best in 9 with any comms gear. At a word from Moreau, she had the satellite radio set up. In moments, Carpenter was on the line.
“Sir, Moreau here, we’ve had some problems. We’re in kraal right now.”
“What kind of problem?”
Quickly, Moreau filled them in.
“Any loses?”
“One lost in action; Private Derking.” Moreau’s voice tightened. Like any officer, she knew losses were part of the job, but she hated to see it happen, especially at the hands of other humans. Humanity had suffered enough losses, why kill one other?
“Lieutenant, I’m adding to the air power at your disposal. Enclave 15 is going to keep some fast movers on call for you as well. Their call sign is Skull flight.”
That stunned Moreau. Enclave Fifteen, the only other one in Arizona, guarded their Peregrine’s jealously, rarely releasing them for use by other Enclaves. Of all the fixed wing aircraft available to Enclaves, the Peregrines were among the easiest to store and maintain. Since the birds were VTOL (vertical take off and landing), they didn’t require much space making them an excellent for offensive or defensive operations. They also packed a lot of punch (30mm cannon, a wide assortment of bombs and missiles) in a small package. Enclave Five had formerly been part of an old WW2 airbase and when the walls had gone up, they enclosed it as well. That was one of the rapidly expanding bases, the walls constantly being moved out to take more of the surrounding area over.
“Roger that sir, I hope it won’t come to that.”
“So do I; be careful out there Lieutenant. All of you.”
“Thank you sir, Moreau out.”
Moreau smiled her thanks at Sharp and went off to her Bradley to eat.
Moreau was wiping her mouth when she heard a voice exclaim, “Halt! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” This was followed by a staccato burst of gunfire, then another. She heard Kiley’s voice clearly shout; “Die mother fucker!”
Instantly the camp was ablaze with light. Spotlights mounted on the AFV’s and trucks shone out, illuminating the night. Figures could be seen outside the wire, some were moving slowly, others, quicker, were hidden among them. From outside the kraal came a gunshot.
Moreau pulled on her helmet. Keying her comm unit, she said, “Pop flares. Weapons free.” In the wire in front of her, bleeding from several cuts and bullet wounds lay a young woman. Still grasped in her hand was a pair of wire cutters. More Lazarites! They had to be hiding in the small village to the east.
Clemens came up next to her so silent and sudden she nearly screamed. “Lieutenant it’s more Lazarites. We’ve got one man down with a gunshot wound. I think we should call in the heat.”
Moreau nodded and turned to find Sharp standing right behind her. “Dani; get air on the line. We need some help.” While Dani got the radio going, Moreau told Clemens, “Get em shooting. Kill anything out there.”
Clemens’s teeth flashed, “On it.” Within seconds, a Bradley’s 25mm opened up, filling the night with its glare and noise. The gunner was using HE rounds, the better to blast anything that was out there to bits. The attackers, unprepared for such a counter attack were startled. It would be the last mistake they ever made. As the trucks grenade launchers and the .50 caliber’s opened up, Mira could hear the sound of jet engines. “Where are the damn flares?” She shouted. Several pops could be heard and then the area was illuminated with ghostly white light of parachute flares. They floated down, the brightness of a million candlelight causing the soldiers to blink. Fortunately, at the call for flares, they’d raised their night vision goggles or several of them would have been blinded.
Outside the wire was carnage. It was barely possible to tell which corpses had been alive, which were zombies. There were puddles of flesh and blood where shells had impacted on targets. Moreau looked up as two Peregrines, hovering in place right outside the wire, their guns blazing. Within moments, there was nothing out there but small piles of smoking meat where enemies had existed moments before. The troops inside the wire stopped firing, allowing the choppers to clean up.
Moreau activated her comms. “Orphan Actual to Raptor Flight.”
“Raptor One, over.”
“Raptor One, there’s a small vill to our east. I think our guests may be using it as a forward base. Can you check it out?”
“Raptor One to Orphan Actual, consider it done.”
With a roar of engines, the Peregrines sped, the silence left behind deafening.
Moreau turned as the fighters sped off. Next to her, Richards grinned, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness. “Time for a show.”
Barely had the worlds left his mouth when a series of explosions brightened the horizon. One a large ball of fire, bright red and yellow, lit up the sky.
“Guess that convenience store had a gas tank, eh?” Richards commented.
The troops watched until the fire died out then those not o
n watch settled down to get some rest.
The rest of the night passed uneventfully.
24 March 2033
Supply Convoy
Warehouse Area
In the morning, the convoy pulled out, leaving the shattered corpses of their enemies to the birds, which had arrived with the sun. Birds of every type were there from Buzzards to Road Runners. They didn’t even fight the bounty was so plentiful. They moved among the body parts as if at some crazed smorgasbord. Clemens watched one buzzard whose passion was eyes. The bird would move from head to head, plucking out eyes and snapping them down.
He was glad when the convoy moved far enough away for him not to watch anymore. He hadn’t wanted to but the birds self-important stalking of these tasty tidbits amazed him. That was how zombies were, only less fussy.
Moreau, in the lead AFV stared through her binoculars. Was it possible that the attack yesterday was an attempt to delay the convoy? Were they going to have to fight Lazarites and zombies at the warehouse? Activating her comset, she keyed the air frequency. Moreau looked skywards. There, off in the distance was a chopper. After Moreau’s morning report, 9 sent an observation chopper to serve as another set of eyes.
“Widow Maker to Big Eyes.”
“Big eyes here, read you five by five, over.”
“Big eyes we’re about two miles from objective, could you scope it? Let us know if you see anything unusual?”
“Roger that.”
The next few minutes were nerve wracking for the Lieutenant.
“Widow Maker, Big eyes.”
“Roger, go.”
“Widow Maker the zombies are spread pretty thin in the parking lot, most of the loading gates are down. . . Holy shit! What the fuck? Evasive!”
Moreau looked down the road and up. A fireball that was the chopper filled the sky. As if in slow motion, she could see the streak of smoke from the missile that had taken it out. Keying her mike to all units, she said, “Convoy, halt.” As the trucks and AFV’s clattered to a halt, she looked off the side of the road. Standing there like some lost hitchhiker was a well-rotted zombie. It had no face, just dust weathered bone, and its arms were mere stumps, ending at the elbows. Without a thought, Moreau pulled her pistol and blew the top of its head off. The zombie was forgotten before the dried remnants of its skull hit the ground, allowing Moreau to key her mike again.
“Orphans two through four, pull up alongside Widow Maker. Clemens, take the lead of the trucks. Our Recce chopper just got blown to hell. We’re going in and we’re going in hot. If we can take some prisoners, fine. If not, kill everything that moves. We want what’s in that warehouse!”
As a chorus of “Rogers” and the sounds of engines filled Moreau’s ears, she keyed air again. “Skull flight, this is Widow Maker, do you read?”
“Widow Maker, Skull 1. Read five by five. They got the chopper?”
“Roger that, I’m taking in my AFV’s can you soften the area up a bit?”
“That’s a big roger there. Payback is a mother fucker!” The pilot sounded pissed and Moreau didn’t blame him. With this crisis, it was time for the human race to put aside their differences and show unity against the zombies, not waste valuable lives and resources killing one other. Enclaves needed survivors, needed to expand humanity’s tenuous grip on the world.
A low roar filled Mira’s ears as Skull flight roared by. The Peregrines were sleek, deadly looking birds, under pylons loaded with ordnance. Moreau was sure one of the pilots gave her a thumb’s up as the planes went by. Everyone could see where they got their call sign; on each planes vertical stabilizer was a large, white skull.
Moreau watched as they sped by, another pilot giving a quick wave. Moreau smiled nastily. She wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of the scum up ahead.
24 March 2033
Supply Convoy
Warehouse Area
Skull 1 pulled up after activating his counter measures. The missile that had taken out the chopper was probably a stinger. There were reports of a National Guard armory to the northwest being looted. Enclaves were trying to corral up all the weapons left at military bases and armories, but there were only so many personnel to go around. Well he and his wingman had a full dispenser of flares and they knew how to deal with stingers. It was time to lay it on. Skull flight passed over once. The entrance to the parking/loading dock area was blockaded. He could see figures, surrounded by zombies, running around pointing up. How the fuck did they walk around like that? That was a million dollar question waiting to be answered. Banking away, he keyed his mike.
“Skull 2, we’re gonna nape em first. Weapons hot and follow my lead.”
“Roger that. Keep an eye out, they probably have more missiles.”
Skull 1 banked around and picked his first spot. A line of dirty old trucks, all lined up to loot the warehouse would be first. The pilot had to nod his approval at the Lazarites attempt at camouflage; to a casual observer, the trucks would look abandoned. There were plenty of zombies standing around there too. He still couldn’t figure that out. Were they controlling the bastards? Well, there was no time to dwell on it.
Skull 1 aimed his plane, took the safety off, and went in. As he started to pull up, he hit the pickle and two shiny silver canisters spun off the hard points on his wings. With a dazzling gleam of light, the first half of the row of trucks was inundated in napalm. The jellied gas spread out, engulfing the whole area.
Skull 2 came in a second later and saw, too late, why there were so many zombies around. Near the trucks, staked out for them were people. Many were thrashing in pain, the tarmac below them red with their blood. Cursing, two hit his pickle and dropped his first load right on the helpless people and their tormentors. Again, a huge glare of blood red light lit up the morning sky.
The AFV’s were approaching slowly, listening in.
There were people staked out by the trucks.” The man’s voice was tinted with rage and disgust.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m fucking sure! I dropped right on them!”
One’s voice was tight with anger. “Fuck! Let’s paste em!”
As the Peregrines spun around for another assault, a missile leapt skyward. It impacted with a flare and exploded harmlessly, ending the threat.
The leader of the scavengers, part of the first cell from the Order of Lazarus, worshippers, and allies of the zombies, to enter Arizona, cursed his luck. The attack last night had failed and now their trucks were gone. With no more missiles left, they were almost defenseless against the unbelievers. Valuable lives that could not easily be replaced were wasted in last night’s effort. It was difficult to gather when the unbelievers had better communications. Some groups had tried using radios, but the Enclavers could triangulate on them too easily. This often led to an unexpected aerial attack, so radios were rarely used other than to monitor local wavelengths, listening when they could find the proper frequency, so they could interfere with Enclave operations.
The leader of the Lazarites could only watch as some of his fellows raised their rifles and machine guns to shoot into the sky. This was a mistake as it revealed their position to the pilots, who came back around, cannons blazing. The leader could only gasp as his fellows were atomized by the giant shells. Nothing was spared the pilots wrath; Both Lazarites and zombies were destroyed by the withering fire. Brave when the odds were in his favor, he ducked next to a pile of dead zombies and hid, hoping his trembling body wouldn’t betray him and the strafing planes would miss.
“Skull 1 to Widow Maker. Things are open now. Go for it. We can stay on for another two hours, so don’t waste time!”
24 March 2033
Supply Convoy
Warehouse Area
The AFV’s hit the fence in a ‘V” formation. The Bradley’s smashed into the support stanchions, bending them until they snapped. Parts of the chain link fence broke apart. Released from tension links flew about the parking lot like shrapnel. The vehicles spread out, engaging s
mall groups of zombies by either crushing them to mulch under the treads or blasting them with the commander’s turret machine gun. Spreading out, the Bradley’s put their backs against the loading area; then moved forward, allowing the ramps to go down. Squads of soldiers, sealed up inside their helmets and masks, ran onto the loading bays, and began to use the chain-falls to open the gates. During the rise, some loyal employee had shut the gates. Kiley, supervising, wondered if this brave person escaped. Slowly the gates rose, revealing darkness within. The sergeant took a deep breath, wondering if it would be his last, before activating the flashlight on his weapon and entering. Who knew what the hell was lurking in there? But he was still the first one inside. He took a look and keyed his mike, his voice echoing in the cavernous building, “Lieutenant, Kiley. This place is a gold mine; we should have brought fifty trucks!”
“Any canned food?”
“Can’t see any in these aisles.”
Moreau grinned at his enthusiasm. “Use the lists if you can, Kiley. Get whatever you can. Fill those trucks to the brim!”
Motioning to the soldiers carrying spare batteries, Kiley, and the other guards watched as they ran to the rows of hi-lows and in moments started them up. The electric vehicles came to life with a whisper of sound. Kiley began shouting orders. “Stay near the light until we know what’s back there!’
One of the hi-low men moved into a row with pallets of medical alcohol. Standing there in the center of the row was a zombie in a jumpsuit. Rising the twin forks, the soldier gunned the vehicle and slammed the left blade through the zombies face. It hung there, loosely until the movement of the hi-low shook it off, the top of the head sitting on the blade as the body tumbled to the floor. Two troopers grabbed it by the feet and quickly dragged its twitching body out of the way.
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 33
