"Let's go! Get into the lot now!" I ordered. I led my small group to the car lot. We popped the lock on the fence and 'borrowed' two SUV's. They were Mercedes. I laughed as I climbed in the shotgun seat of one. I could never have afforded one of these in civilian life. Hell, I was lucky to have gone to college. I'd been in my second year of University of Alabama at Montgomery, when the loans ran out. That's why I joined the reserves, to go to school. Hell; that was one sure way for a black kid to get to college. I wanted to be a teacher; I ended up an exterminator. For the record, my name is Edward Collins. I liked doing my reserve duty, but I liked the army paying my bills even more. Now I was in the army for the duration, which from the look of things, wouldn't be much longer for any of us if we didn't get away quick!
We loaded up with gas and got moving. There were twelve of us; S/Sgt. Huey Delacroix, whose parents were from Haiti and who believed in voodoo big time. Cpl. Adrienne King was a big girl from Montgomery; she carried an M-60 and knew how to use it. Cpl. Terry Fisher was our medic. She didn't like using guns but could when she had to. Quiet most of the time, she was a sweet person, too sweet to witness the end of the world.
The rest of my men were privates; Orson Scott, Chris Cushing and Lee Peters, were all armed with M11’s. That's an M8 with a grenade launcher. Problem was we didn't have many grenades left for them. Peters also carried a sharpened entrenching tool (a habit he'd picked up in the Gulf as a regular). Peters was the 'old man' among us, 42 years old, with a nasty disposition toward any enemy. Since this strange war began, Peters had killed living humans as well as living dead. He was a weapon in himself. Just point him and get the hell out of the way. If he had it his way, he'd just have nuked the cities and the hell with them. A country boy, he hated cities more than anyone I've ever known.
The civilians we'd come to evac, some of whom were moaning their asses off, were; Doctor Tara Fields, a specialist in blood diseases, Dr. Delroy Fields, her husband, same specialty, with another degree in mental illness and Dr. Carver Benning, virologist, a real high strung fuck if I've ever seen one. He was dangerous to us all and we'd decided to keep a close eye on him. No telling when he'd freak out. The last two were construction experts, super duper engineers. Calvin Sisko and Jules Savini. These last two were stand up guys by anyone's standards. Sisko looked like the type who you could pour cold water on and be lucky if he'd blink.
Well, we split the team, tumbled into the SUV’s, and took off for the Alabama/Georgia border. It was a slim chance that we'd make it, especially since our radio had gone up with the helo, but perhaps a roving helo patrol would run across us, or perhaps we'd end up like Custer did when surrounded by the Indians. Totally fucked.
We were rolling along at a good pace and I was really glad we'd crashed on the outskirts of the city. I looked back and could see roiling clouds of black smoke rising up, obliterating the buildings. Things had really gone to hell quickly. We had some ammo, but not enough for a sustained firefight. We needed to get close enough to the Enclave for our flares to be noticed or we needed a place that we could secure and hold until discovered.
We had to avoid any unnecessary altercations that would use up the munitions we had. We needed to get some food and water. My head was starting to hurt from how unprepared we were to survive on the road. Who knew what was ahead of us?
It was dawn of the second day when problems started. We'd stopped to let those who had slept drive. We did this quickly, since there were no streetlights on the interstate and we didn't want to make any unnecessary light. At first I hadn’t even wanted to use the headlights but not knowing what was on the road, we had to see what might be waiting. Zombies would ignore virtually anything, but any sight or sound of technology really set the bastards off. As soon as we'd switched drivers, we got moving again. Driving with all our gear on could be uncomfortable as hell, but as Delacroix said before he fell asleep, snoring loud enough to bring the dead, "Uncomfortable is better than eaten."
We all agreed.
Dawn brought us a dim grey light at first, then a drizzling rain. The smell of smoke was heavy, but there was no gunpowder scent to it. More towns burned, by looters or by us, it didn't matter. More burning meant more refugees, more victims for the dead, more recruits to the ranks of those shambling fucks.
We drove on past a field of cows among who the dead shambled. One was worse looking than the next. There was a farmer, one side of his face gone, with the shattered haft of a pitchfork sticking out of his chest. Another, possibly a woman, had nothing but flayed flesh hanging from the front of her body. She staggered into things, not having any eyes. A third zombie must have been caught in some machinery. It had no arms and both its sides were crusted in dried blood. Another had been entirely eviscerated. I could see daylight through the hole where its intestines had been. Some of the zombies turned their heads as we passed; others tried to shamble past the cows onto the highway. In the rear seat of my SUV, Peters leaned out the window and tossed a flash-bang grenade. Basically, a super firecracker, it was useless on the dead but it had the desired effect on the cows: it stampeded them. I was going to curse at Peters, who'd scared the shit out of me, but watching those dead shits get trampled by the cows made me laugh. I glanced at the rearview mirror, Peters was shooting the bird at those dead who weren't trampled.
We drove by another field of them, trying to ignore their terrific smell. Humans rot quickly, especially down south. It was only May, making me wonder what would happen when it got really hot. The zombies would probably burst like bombs, once the flesh inside them started to rot. Insects would have a field day. Good for them! As we drove past the closest, I gave them the finger as well. I shouted, "Go fuck yourselves, you rotting bags of shit!" Their mouths opened in hungry snarls as those with eyes turned their heads to follow us.
We were on the edge of a town called Smithville, which, oddly enough, was built mostly of homes made of cinderblock, when trouble started. As we passed through the town, two rear tires on the lead SUV blew. We were taking turns in the lead. With a screeching sound, it slid to a halt. As soon as it stopped, we skidded to a halt and jumped out.
Scott got out of the driver's seat of the ruined SUV and cursed. They'd hit barbed wire laid across the road. It looked like the remnants of a roadblock. There had been just enough to ruin the tires and wrap around the rear axle.
Delacroix pointed toward the main street of the town. There were a few dead moving around the square. In the square stood a military 6x6, its tires deflated, dried blood staining its sides. A few dead ambled around a statue to some Civil War hero I didn't give a rats ass about.
"We can't change the tires," said Delacroix. "We better find some place to hold up."
Cushing, staring toward the dead, who hadn't noticed us . . . yet, said, "How about that gas station? The rolling are gates down, we could secure it pretty easy and there's a store attached. Looks like someone might have lived there as well."
Sisko, one of the engineers, glanced at it. "It's doable. Jules and I might even have an idea or two about keeping it secure."
This was good enough for me. "Defensive positions now! Let's move and keep it quiet!"
As we moved out, the dull stutter of our steps the only sound, carrying all our spare ammo and packs, one of our geniuses remembered they'd left something behind. It was our resident Twilight Zone dweller, Benning. Benning still thought this was all a hoax. Before any of us noticed he'd gone back to the SUV's, we were at the gas station.
"Scott, Peters. Inside, check it out. Delacroix, head count."
As the two troopers entered the gas stations store (the open linked gates were down and locked over the vulnerable windows), Delacroix said, "Bennings…" A scream of pain split the air. "Gone," finished lamely.
All eyes went to the SUV's. Benning was being pulled down by a pack of nasty looking zombies wearing chain gang dungarees. I could clearly see a fountain of arterial blood fly into the air. His arms were thrashing and flailing as the zombies dug in. I co
uld see fingers being torn off, hands digging at his stomach and groin. Blood discolored the side of the SUV as he was banged against it, the zombies dismembering him. One staggered away with an arm, two others in pursuit while others bent hungry mouths to his flesh. He was still thrashing when they pulled out his intestines and began fighting over them. One zombie was pulling at his head, tearing it from the neck when some of them noticed us.
"He's gone." I'd said it before and I had the feeling I'd say it again. "New plan. Everyone inside! NOW!"
I was the last one in, you know, the old "Captain goes down with the ship, bull shit?" Well, I had my orders and in a world gone mad, I was going to hold onto them and (hopefully) my sanity. I'd seen people just give up and let themselves be taken by the zombies. Not me. I wasn't giving up. I was going to get these people to the Enclave or die trying.
We herded the civilians into the main room of the gas station/living complex. Scott appeared from the left, where the garage was, "All clear here Lieutenant."
Peters came stomping down the stairs. "Upstairs will be clear, but I need a hand to clean things up a bit."
"Delacroix, start making this area secure down here. I'll go help Peters."
I stomped up the stairs following Peters. He had his helmet back on his head; M203 clutched in one hand. As we entered a large bedroom, I saw the body lying on the floor. A head was nearby, eyes still moving, neatly decapitated. Peters lifted his entrenching tool, wiped it off, and stuffed it back into his belt. "I guess we can toss it out the window, sir."
"Ah, can the sir, shit, Peters. We're all friends here." I shouldered my rifle and helped lift the corpse. We put it on the windowsill and gave it a shove. It tumbled out, landing on two others zombies who had gotten close. One of the zombies lifted the corpse’s hand, then dropped it and staggered away. The other just looked around stupidly. It was driving scientist’s nuts that they didn’t eat one another. If the brainiacs could figure out a way to make them eat one another, our problem would be partly solved.
I turned to the head. The eyes were open, the mouth making chewing motions. I thought about kicking its horrid face in, but that would do no good. Grabbing the head by the hair, I lifted it and tossed it underarm out the window.
Peters laughed. "Keeping that bowling arm in practice, sir?"
I had to grin at this. "Let's see what kind of supplies we've got here."
An hour later, we realized we weren't in bad shape at all. We had plenty of liquid, mostly in the form of sports drinks and sodas, but they were still liquid. We also had quite a supply of canned goods. Of course balancing that, we had no way out of here, or a way to communicate with the Enclave or any of the units in the area. We did have a few flares (handheld ones) and one smoke grenade, but there was no point in using any of them if we didn't know anyone was there to see it.
We also had the civilians. The engineers, Sisko and Savini had thrown themselves into making our little hideout more secure. From a room upstairs, they'd pulled up floorboards adding a few I-beams from the garage they further bolstered the doors. It would take a lot of zombies to get through those two doors now. The gratings over the windows were set well, this being tornado territory. To keep the zombies from noticing us, when the sun went down, we hung sheets over the windows to hide our movements.
I set a watch schedule that included the civilians (the Fields didn't like that, but fuck them. I believed in bait or cut fish) then I took first watch. Things were secure and we had time to catch our breath.
The problem now was what do we do?
It was the beginning of the second day in Smithville when things started to get strange.
"Hey, LT, come here. Check this out."
I raised myself from the floor, pulled on my helmet and stepped over to where Cushing was watching the front of the house. There was a large mail slot, big enough to take packages in the door. Cushing had the hatch open and was looking out. There was a lawn out front that had been well tended once upon a time. Now it had gone to weeds, dandelions mostly. A garden gnome (I hated those fucking things) that had been knocked over was almost overgrown. One zombie, a muscular creature that looked intact, sat on the steps that would lead to this entrance.
I started to raise my rifle to end its existence. This zombie looked in too good a shape to be allowed to survive any longer. Cushing held my barrel. "Don't shoot sir. Watch what this one is doing."
Frowning I stared at the zombie. It was wearing work pants and shoes, with a tattered blue work shirt completing the ensemble. In each of its hands, it held clumps of grass. Then, right before my unbelieving eyes, it began stuffing the grass into its mouth! Green juice ran down its chin as it chewed the grass lustily. After that, it started in on the dandelions.
I couldn't believe my eyes. "Go get one of the eggheads. Get Dr. Fields, the male one." The male Dr. Fields had a second degree in psychology. Maybe this would interest him.
Fields, who was a happier sort than his wife was, but could be a prima donna at times, was ushered to me. Face still showing the need for real sleep he said, "What is it, Lieutenant?"
I pointed out the spy hole. "Take a gander at this, Doc."
Fields looked out the hatch. For at least ten minutes he stared, not saying a thing. Then he turned. "This is unbelievable! That creature is eating plants!" He turned back to watch, and then turned back. "Private Cushing, could you get me a can of oh, pick any vegetable from our stores?"
Cushing looked at me and I nodded. In a few seconds, he was back, roughly opened can of corn in one hand. Fields took it, and then realized he couldn't open the door. I took the can, closed the bent open lid, and went upstairs. Opening the window as quietly as I could, I tossed the can out and hit our vegetarian right on the head. He got up quick, growling, and then started sniffing the air. Finding the can, he dug his fingers into the corn, took a taste, and began greedily shoveling it into his mouth. This freak looked like Mr. Olympia, his muscles rippling as he ate the corn. A second zombie, a female who likely had been in a car crash, small splinters of glass sticking out of the left side of her face and body, staggered over. She reached up to touch the corn and the vegetarian killed her! With a growl, he pulled the can away and brought a heavily muscled, stiff moving arm down on top of her skull. With a shattering sound, her skull collapsed down into her brain, destroying her. He then sat back on the steps and finished his corn.
I ran back down the stairs. "Did you fucking see that? What the hell is going on here?"
Cushing gave this zombie the name that would stick. "Maybe Fido out there don't like meat." Fido was his name from here on in.
By day three, we were all taking turns watching Fido. He'd eaten most of the grass in a ten-foot swatch, all the dandelions, and most of a hyacinth bush. Fields was amazed at this creature's action. What amazed our little group was he'd killed two other zombies. We were starting to think of him as a pet. But I still wondered if he would eat meat.
Dr. Fields found some notebooks in the store and spent much of his free time writing in them. None of us understood what the hell he was writing, but it kept him calm. His wife on the other hand had retreated to the lone bedroom upstairs and only came down to eat. She wouldn't take any watches and when Delacroix threatened to cut her rations, she laughed in his face.
I decided we could do without her.
Sisko and Savini had paired off and spent most of their free time discussing the Enclave. It turned out they'd both been part of a think tank ten years earlier that had created the basic design. They'd been told it was in case of nuclear war. Ten years! Had the government known something? Or was it just a case of happy circumstance? I knew that before the rise the Enclaves had been protected by re-routing roads and having no-fly zones. But had they known something was up? We’d likely never find out. When I thought of this, I got a bad taste in my mouth. I was a soldier for the duration of this odd war, but I didn't fucking have to like it.
Cpl. Fisher came looking for me midway through the fifth day.
Only Fields still had an interest in Fido, who would stop whatever he was doing when he heard birds. The zombie would stand there and watch the feathered beasts with an almost whimsical look on its face. There was another corpse out there today; its head pulled from its shoulders. I was going bug fuck trying to figure out just why the fucking thing was killing the other things!
"Lieutenant, have you seen Tara Fields? I went up to get her for chow and the rooms empty."
I shot out of the chair. "Delacroix!" The Sergeant appeared instantly, M8 in one hand. "Yes, LT?" I glanced around. Cushing was watching the front, Peters the back. Sisko and Savini were playing chess and arguing how to make a wall stand better. Scott was sleeping. Where the fuck was Fields? Just then, we heard a skittering noise, like something on the roof.
Delacroix looked up and said what I was thinking, "Shit."
"Go get Fields, bring him to the roof!"
Without waiting, followed by Fisher, I ran upstairs. Fisher was close behind me, her medical bag banging off one hip as she followed me. I stopped in the hallway and looked around. There at the end of the hallway a ladder had been pulled down. What the fuck did Fields want on the roof? Cautiously I moved down the hallway, my rifle up and ready. Seeing that the opening was clear, I took a deep breath and charged up. Fields stood at the far end of the roof looking down. As I cleared the entrance to the roof, I hissed, "Dr. Fields! Get away from there! The things will see you!"
She turned, smiled, and gave me the bird. I stopped. "Dr. Fields, what are you fucking doing?"
She turned to face me. "I'm going to my eternal reward, Lieutenant. None of us are going to survive this. We're dinosaurs. The zombies, they're the future now."
Enclave: A Novel of the Zombie Apocalypse Page 54
