by David Achord
The cameras on the drone were patched in to the monitors on the Strykers and were also linked up to Mount Weather. They navigated the drone with the ease of experts. It circled the perimeter of Fort Detrick and then was navigated until it hovered over the USAMRIID labs.
There were a scant number of zombies wandering around. When the drone would fly over them, they stopped whatever they were doing and stared stupidly at the drone.
“Alright, I’m not seeing any major obstacles,” Justin said. “Would you agree, Major?”
“I counted seventeen zeds,” Sarah replied. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Recall the drone,” Justin ordered.
They repacked the drone and loaded it up, assuring Justin and Sarah they could unpack it and reassemble it in under five minutes once they got to the labs. The next order he gave got him more than a few sour looks.
“Alright everyone, we’ve already discussed it. Get suited up. MOPP level four.”
Once everyone was fully suited up and had their respirators on, the three vehicles got in line and headed toward the first security gate into Fort Detrick. It was open, but manned by four zeds in uniform. Justin made quick work of them as their convoy drove past.
“About what I expected,” Sergeant Crumby commented over the radio.
“Everyone double-check your weapons,” Justin directed. “I have no doubt there’s more.”
The USAMRIID building was a one-story structure with a basement. Justin tried his best to memorize the floor plans before leaving, but had the blueprints downloaded in their onboard computer as well. Even so, it was bigger than he thought it’d be. North of it was a newer building with additional labs. It housed the National Biodefense Analysis and Countermeasures Center. That was their contingency if the first building was somehow destroyed or untenable.
Justin radioed for them to stop on Porter Street. He stood up in the open hatch and looked over the two abandoned Strykers parked in front of the main entrance. They were both surrounded by multiple zombie corpses, but there were no soldiers, or any other live humans.
The bulky protective clothing, cumbersome rubber gloves, and the gas mask made them all feel overly clumsy. Breathing through the filters also stifled his sense of hearing. He gave the signal to kill the engines, took a deep breath, and held it as long as he could. All was quiet.
He reached down, grabbed the radio’s microphone, and held it up to the voicemitter outlet valve on his mask.
“Each of you perform one more equipment check, please, and check your buddies,” he ordered. He wasn’t taking any chances. He watched as each Marine performed a breath check on their respirators and then giving the okay sign. Sergeant Crumby gave a click with his mike to indicate the Marines in the second Stryker were ready.
“Dismount,” he ordered. By predesign, the drivers would remain buttoned-up inside the Strykers and provide security. Joker and two other Marines dismounted and jogged over to the unoccupied Strykers. The rear hatches stood open silently. Joker led with his M4 and peered inside one of them. After a moment, the abandon Stryker’s engine roared to life. Joker opened the command hatch, gave Justin the “all clear” hand signal, followed by, “wait one,” and ducked inside the second Stryker. Justin waited. Soon, Joker reemerged and ran over to his lieutenant.
“Both are empty,” he said loudly through his respirator. “No blood. Each has about three-quarters of a tank. The engines are good and the onboard equipment looks undamaged. It’s like they just shut ‘em down and walked away from them.”
Justin felt himself frowning under his respirator. The soldiers would not have simply abandoned the Strykers. Would they? If they decided to strike out on their own, no pun intended, they would have taken one or both armored vehicles with them. Why wouldn’t they? He stared at them as he thought. They were the ultimate post-apocalyptic, anti-zombie vehicle. There were only a few weapons or weapons platforms capable of taking them out. A tank or a hellfire missile could kill it. Nothing a zombie was capable of handling. Their only drawbacks were the individual cost of them, several million each, and that issue was no longer relevant, and the gas mileage wasn’t the best in the world.
It was damned odd.
He turned toward the two doctors who were still sitting inside and pointed at the rear hatch. They exited the armored vehicle, walked several feet away, and began methodically collecting and testing air samples. Justin watched as they performed the tests, even at one point taking what looked like an elongated Q-tips and rubbing them along various surfaces, including the vehicles. After several minutes, Doctor Smeltzer took his respirator off and made a show of inhaling deeply. Doctor Kincaid immediately held a finger up, tacitly telling the others not to be so quick in taking their respective masks off. The two doctors stood close and spoke to each other for several minutes before Doctor Kincaid slowly followed suit.
Justin dismounted from his Stryker, and the other Marines formed a defensive perimeter. He took his respirator off and directed the others to do the same.
“Definitely no airborne contagions,” Doctor Smeltzer said. “At least, not anymore. Outside is fine. Inside may be another story. We’ll need to do the same testing once we go in. It goes without saying: we should put our masks back on before going in.”
Justin nodded and looked over at Sarah, who responded with a small nod of her own.
“Alright, you two,” she said, looking over at Briscoe and Stallings. “Let’s get on that generator.”
There were two of them, both located behind the building. The two men unloaded their toolkits and opened the service door to the first one. They made their assessment in less than five minutes.
“They’re still good,” Briscoe said. “But, the fuel is bad.”
Stallings pointed at the fuel tanker behind the Humvee. “Back it up right about here and drop it. We’ll clean out the fuel system, run a line from the tanker directly to the generator, and we’ll have power.”
“How long?” Sarah asked.
Stallings shrugged. “A couple of hours.” He waited expectantly and Sarah nodded. They got to work.
Once they’d unhooked the tanker from the Humvee, Sarah and Rachel stood around, watching the two men. Verbal communication between the two of them was minimal, but it was not necessary; they worked well together. When Sarah and Rachel attempted to help, they shooed them away.
“I’m bored,” Rachel said.
“Yeah,” Sarah answered. “C’mon.”
Rachel followed Sarah back to the front of the building where the Marines were preparing themselves to go into the lab.
“Have you got it covered?” she asked Justin.
“Yes, ma’am. Sergeant Crumby’s team is going to provide security, the rest of us are going in.” He looked at her a moment. “Do you want to join in, ma’am?”
“Negative. Sergeant Benoit and I are going to reconnoiter the rest of Fort Detrick.”
“Aye, ma’am,” Justin said.
“Reconnoiter?” Rachel asked when they’d gotten inside the Humvee.
Sarah looked at her and grinned. “Whatever you want to call it, let’s go exploring, maybe kill a few zeds.”
“Ooh, you’re making me wet,” Rachel said with a giggle.
The reception area, administrative offices, and conference rooms were all in front, and the labs were through a set of thick security doors and down at the end of a hallway. Justin and the Marines methodically cleared every square inch. The exertion in the hot unventilated building was hard enough, but doing it while in the MOPP suits had them quickly soaked in sweat.
Justin had them divided into two teams. When the lead team reached the doors, the point man stopped and motioned Justin forward. He pointed at what he could see through the wire mesh glass. The hallway on the other side was stacked with corpses.
“All zombies. It looks like they were going in, not coming out.” His voice was muffled because of the respirator. He had to nearly shout to be understood.
Justin
nodded in agreement and studied them. “Any of them Mount Weather people?”
Crumby shook his head. “I don’t see any I recognize.”
Justin thought a moment and gave the order to exit the building. The Marines retreated outside and hustled over to the makeshift decontamination shower a couple of the other Marines had set up. They went through it and allowed the water to soak them down before moving over to a designated assembly area, pulling off their respirators, and drinking heavily from their camelbacks. Justin did the same, and then motioned for Sarah to follow him to the command Stryker.
“Mike Whiskey Actual, this is Delta Two Actual. SITREP, over,” Justin said into the radio.
When he received a response, he advised them of what they’d found inside and what he intended to do next. After receiving a confirmation, he signed off and gathered his Marines.
“It’s damned odd,” he remarked to nobody in particular.
“It is,” one of them replied. “I’ve only seen a few zeds; it seems like there should be more.”
“Alright, listen up. Our mission hasn’t changed, but it has gotten a little more challenging.” He paused and took a deep breath, and then wondered if he should take deep breaths while standing so close to the labs.
“We’re going to need to haul out all of those corpses, bring them outside, and we should probably burn them.” He looked at the docs for confirmation.
“A wise precaution,” Doctor Kincaid said.
Justin nodded. “Sergeant Crumby, along with providing security, that’ll be your squad’s assignment.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied.
“The rest of you, get your masks back on and let’s get to it.”
Corporal Conway raised a hand. Justin gestured at him. “Does this mean there’s still people alive on the other side of those doors, sir?”
“Unknown,” Justin replied.
“The first task force was equipped similar to us, a week’s worth of rations and water,” Sergeant Crumby said. “There’s probably fresh water still available down there.”
“We should have come here sooner,” the corporal lamented.
“Probably, but we’re here now. This is what we’ve got to do.” Justin looked around to make sure everyone was listening. “We’ve got to clear out that hallway and get in there.” He explained his thought process on how to do it, and everyone agreed.
Chapter 16 – The Hangover
Melvin didn’t know it, but he’d awakened right about the same time the Fort Detrick task force was beginning their mission. Looking around and ensuring they were alone, he stepped out of the truck, relieved himself, and brushed his teeth. He didn’t bother waking Savannah and started the truck. She finally opened her eyes a few miles outside of Abingdon when he failed to avoid a large pothole. He hit it so hard, Savannah bounced in her seat, and the jolt caused his head to explode in hangover agony. He imagined he could even hear Peggy growling in protest.
“Where are we?” Savannah asked as she sat up and rubbed her eyes.
Melvin didn’t answer. He was parched and tried to drink from his canteen, but another bump sent water sloshing all over his face.
“Shit,” he muttered, drove to the side of the interstate and stopped.
“Where are we?” Savannah asked again as Melvin drank.
He responded by waving a finger in the general direction in front of him. What he’d give for a gallon of coffee right now. Savannah got out of the truck and squatted. When she stood, she fixed her pants, and then pointed.
“Hey look, there’s some apartments over there. They’d be good to search, wouldn’t they?”
Melvin looked to where she was pointing. There was an apartment complex backing up to the interstate. It was moderately sized, maybe a dozen or so three-story buildings.
“Yeah, probably,” he said. He got out and geared up with what he called his salvaging kit.
“Stay with the truck,” he said.
“But you said I could go with you,” Savannah cried.
“I changed my mind. I need you to guard the truck,” Melvin said and rubbed the stubble on his face. The morning was overcast and humid, and he felt like shit warmed over. The last thing he wanted was someone pestering him with questions.
“But, you said you were going to show me how to search and scavenge,” she rejoined.
“Maybe later. You can talk to Miss Piggy if you get lonely.”
Savannah didn’t like it, that much was clear, but she did not say anything. Instead, she sulked and watched as Melvin gathered his backpack with his tools and his sword. As an afterthought, he took the key fob. He wasn’t sure he fully trusted her yet and didn’t want her to drive off with his only source of transportation.
He looked around again before setting out at a slow jog, each step sending miniature electrical charges of pain through his head. He climbed the interstate barrier fence and worked his way to the apartments. A sprinkle of rain started again as he approached the first apartment. He didn’t mind. He was already sweating, so getting a little wet didn’t bother him. He wished his headache would subside though.
The floor plans seemed to be the same generic layout of all apartments, only the façade was different. They were cheaply made with thin doors, and all of them had been pried or kicked open. In a way, this was good. The odds of zombies still trapped in an apartment were low.
The negative aspect was obvious. All of the good items, like food, firearms, and ammunition were long gone. So, he instead focused on nooks and crannies, searching for anything not taken or destroyed by humans or rodents.
The results were better than he hoped for. One apartment yielded a partial roll of toilet paper found under a couch cushion (better than gold, Melvin would declare). It was smashed, but still useable. In another apartment, he found a half-full pepper shaker, and a couple of apartments yielded small remnants of soap bars, which he dutifully collected and stored in a zip-lock bag. Later, he’d melt them down into one blob. He found one partially used tube of toothpaste, which was a rare find, and one apartment caused him to say a silent thank you to the Lord above. He pulled a bathroom drawer open and noticed a slight bulge under the drawer liner. Lifting it up, he found a cellophane package containing two extra strength aspirin. He read the label to confirm they were indeed aspirin before tearing the cellophane open and swallowing them whole. As an afterthought, he drank some water from his canteen.
The last apartment, in the back on the third floor, had obviously been occupied by a woman. The place was decorated in pastels and even had draperies, which were mildew-stained and had a rank musty smell to them.
He started in the den, which had a collection of philosophy books sitting on a makeshift shelf of planks and milk crates. Melvin took a philosophy course once when he was pursuing his Bachelor’s. For his final essay, he wrote what he believed was his best paper ever, comparing and contrasting the top three Greek philosophies, and concluded by declaring philosophy was a bunch of horseshit. The professor was not amused.
Regardless of his opinion, he grabbed a few and set them by the door. The people at Weather were always looking to expand their library.
He then worked his way into the kitchen. All of the drawers had been pulled out and were scattered on the floor. There was a utility closet at the back of the tiny kitchen and the washer-dryer combo was still there. He looked in the washer and was surprised to see clothing, several pairs of white cotton socks to be exact. They were stiff from sitting in there for so long, but still useable. He grabbed them and tossed them next to the books before making his way down the short hallway and into the bathroom.
Surprisingly, there was a toothbrush still in its package lying on the floor. Someone probably found it, but it dropped out of their pack when they were leaving. He thought of Savannah as he grabbed it up.
“Now we don’t have to share, you skinny little shit,” he muttered.
Working his way into the solitary bedroom, he found nothing in the closet. The bed was
still there. It consisted of a solitary mattress. No bed frame. The sheets were missing and the mattress itself had mildew stains, like the drapes. Lifting it up, he discovered two items; a pillowcase and a dildo.
He left the dildo behind.
Exiting the apartment, he turned and was startled by a person standing there. He instantly brought his handgun up and came close to firing before realizing who it was. Savannah was standing there, wearing his poncho, her face almost hidden, looking at him like a lost puppy dog.
“What the hell,” he said in exasperation. “I almost shot you.”
She stared at him. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
He sighed and tossed her the pillowcase.
“Alright,” he said. “Keep quiet and watch my back.”
Savannah nodded. He loaded up the pile of goods into his backpack and went to the next apartment. It was another one-bedroom. Melvin searched it quickly, walked back outside, and pointed at the open door.
“Let’s check your skills,” he said. “Go find something we can use. Use the pillow case.”
Savannah looked at him with a small amount of apprehension, wondering if Melvin was tricking her somehow.
“Do I get a gun?” she asked.
Melvin shook his head.
“Are you going to run off and leave me?”
He shook his head again and impatiently pointed at the door. She hesitated a moment longer and then walked in. Melvin waited outside while she rummaged around and grimaced as something, a kitchen drawer maybe, fell to the floor with a crash. She came out a few minutes later holding an emery board and toenail clippers.
“There wasn’t anything else but trash and mice turds,” she said.
“You were far too noisy,” Melvin admonished. “Learn to be quieter.” He looked out the breezeway to see if anyone heard them and were coming to investigate. It looked like they were by themselves. “Alright, let’s go.”
“You’re a grumpy bastard when you’re hungover,” she muttered.
Melvin gave her a sour look and took off jogging. She followed him as they made their way across the other side of the interstate. The sky had gotten noticeably darker in the last thirty minutes, and now the rain was coming down steadily.
