Zombie Crusade

by J. W. Vohs

“Well,” Barnes replied, “you and about forty other men are going to pull twelve-hour shifts in sniper positions overlooking the village. Your orders are to shoot anyone who tries to leave that god-forsaken place.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Afghanistan, 2002

  Jack stopped chewing and stared at Barnes as he continued, “Nobody leaves that village without our approval, Sergeant Smith. We’ll have hazmat roadblocks set up on every road and path in and out of there, but if any of the villagers slip by them you won’t want them within a hundred yards of you or any of the rest of us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Jack took a moment before responding, “If I see anyone not in a hazmat suit in shooting range I’m supposed to shoot them.”

  Barnes asked, “Can you handle that, Sergeant Smith? NOBODY leaves that village, and that includes women, children and old folks.”

  From the expression on the colonel’s face, Jack figured there was no safe way to back out of this situation now so he declared, “Yes, sir, I can handle that.”

  Barnes’ face softened a bit as he explained, “Look, you’re a smart kid; you know what happens to this world if something like Ebola goes airborne, right?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack replied. “They call it a ‘slate-wiper’.”

  “That’s right,” Barnes agreed, “Ebola ever gets loose and goes airborne, the human slate gets wiped clean. It would make the Black Death seem like a cold virus. Humanity would be set back for centuries, if it survived at all. At least ninety-five percent of the world would die, and many of the survivors would be so weakened they wouldn’t make it more than a few years with the modern food production system gone.”

  “Is that what’s down there, sir?”

  “I don’t think so. Neither Ebola nor Marburg has ever been found this far north. But still, people are dying quickly down there and we know it is spreading by air and bodily fluids. We probably have a new virus on our hands; maybe something like Ebola has mutated. Could be some virus has been in these mountains for thousands of years and lack of exposure to the outside world has always kept it in check. Of course, we won’t have any answers until we contain the virus and let it run its course down there. The bottom line is that I hope you understand how serious this is. I know your orders are dreadful, but even one infected person getting past us could lead to disaster, maybe even an apocalypse.”

  Jack found that the colonel’s attempt at sincerity upset him almost as much as the idea of shooting a child trying to escape the village, but again, he decided to go along with whatever game Barnes was playing here. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, sir. Don’t worry, nobody will get past me.”

  Barnes nodded with a satisfied expression. “Good. I would bet my house that you won’t see a soul, let alone have to shoot a civilian trying to escape the village. But I needed to be sure before I have you added to the rotation. Your first shift begins at 2400. I’ve been told that Master Sergeant Peterson will be over here soon, and he’ll tell you where to post.”

  Standing and picking up the remains of his MRE, Barnes added, “We may not see much of each other over the next several days. I don’t know how much sleep I’ll be able to get, and all of you in the sniper group are supposed to be in your tents when not on duty. If you need to contact me leave a message with Sgt. Peterson and I’ll get to you when I can. Otherwise, good luck out there.”

  “You too, sir,” Jack called out to the colonel as he walked away.

  Ten minutes later a tall, thin master sergeant walked up and asked, “You Smith?”

  Jack stood straight and replied, “Yes, sergeant. Are you Master Sergeant Peterson?”

  “Yep,” the hard looking sergeant answered. “I know Colonel Barnes explained most everything to you, but let me tell you the daily routine. You’ll be posted three hundred yards straight down the ridge from where you parked the Hummer; I’ll write down the exact coordinates so you can plug them into your GPS. You’ll be on duty from 2400 to 1200 hours every day. Each morning four MREs will be placed outside your tent; it’s the best we can do up here, but at least you get four. You can access fresh water from a truck up on the ridge, but try to keep your visits there to just before and after you go on post. We also have a slit trench up there, but again, keep your visits to a minimum and just piss behind your tent. You got any questions?”

  “Why the isolation sergeant?” Jack asked.

  “Just in case any of our men have been exposed to whatever’s down in that village, we’re gonna keep contact between ourselves to a minimum. Anything else?”

  “Any idea how long we’ll be up here?”

  “Probably no longer than a week, but you never know in these types of situations,” Peterson explained.

  Jack had no more questions, but he did note with interest as the master sergeant turned to leave that he had the same unit patch on his sleeve as Colonel Barnes. Peterson was USAMRIID too. Musing over the conditions of the situation as he prepared gear for his shift, and taking into account the leadership of the bio-hazard unit, Jack kept returning to his belief that the colonel was lying about some aspects of the mission. Barnes was keeping secrets about what was down in that village, and if USAMRIID thought for one second that any US soldiers had been exposed to the virus they would already be quarantined. So why the no-contact order from Peterson? He finally decided that he would just have to see this mission through and then ask for a return to the 82nd or a Ranger battalion as soon as possible. Jack did know one thing for certain: this bio-crap wasn’t for him.

  Awakened by the alarm he had set for 2300, Jack readied himself for twelve hours in the freezing mountain climate and began his walk up over the ridge. Stopping to top off his canteens at the water truck he ran into a couple of Rangers who muttered quiet greetings as they quickly finished their business and moved separately down the mountain. He had little trouble finding his post with the GPS, not even needing to pull out the small night vision scope he had packed before leaving Bragg. He found a shivering sniper quite happy to see his relief.

  The young Ranger was as tall as Jack, thin, with a gaunt face that strongly hinted at exhaustion and perhaps even a bit of fear. He had extremely short blond hair complete with a three-day stubble covering his dirt-smudged face. The overall impression the tough-looking soldier emanated was that of a hardened warrior who was both wary and capable.

  “Anything I should know before you leave, sergeant?” Jack asked the weary soldier.

  “Naw, I ain’t seen a damn thing since I started pullin’ shifts up here a few days ago. You can see the hazmat roadblocks in the daylight, but nobody’s tried to leave the village since I’ve been watchin’.”

  As the sniper moved past him to head up the mountain, Jack grabbed his sleeve, “Hey, what kind of optics you have on your weapon?”

  “Just iron sights, man. Ain’t none of us have scopes or night vision.”

  “What the hell . . .” Jack began before being cut off.

  “Look, buddy, I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout why they’re runnin’ this show the way they are. I do know that they don’t want any of us talkin’ to each other, probably ‘cause of the rumor some of the shooters was talking about when I first got here.” The sniper immediately realized he had said too much, and angrily pulled his sleeve from Jack’s grasp as he mumbled, “Just keep your eyes open and stay awake.”

  With that warning the man was gone, leaving Jack with even more questions about what was going on here. As his eyes adjusted to the half-moon night, Jack couldn’t see anything but shadows more than twenty feet way. The more he thought about his situation the angrier he became. Whatever was happening in the surrounded village, he was incredibly vulnerable and exposed in this position. He couldn’t see anything, had nothing but iron sights on his M-4, and didn’t even know where any of the other snipers were located. The entire situation was FUBAR, and after a few moments of worry he finally decided to simply stay warm and keep his ears open. Obviously, the shooters weren’t supposed to be ab
le to see very far or shoot at much distance. Jack decided he wouldn’t tell anyone about his compact binoculars, or the small night vision scope (NVS) hidden in his pack as he tried to get comfortable amid the boulders that concealed his perch. Someone would have to fall into his position and scream before he pulled the trigger on anyone tonight.

  Several hours before dawn, the cold and boredom led Jack to risk taking a good look into the village with his NVS. His main concern was that the USAMRIID people were watching the Rangers with NVGs and other optics, so he hid himself and his NVS by quickly piling rocks into small walls around his head and shoulders. As he scoped the village he could only see one man walking about, and his lurching gait led Jack to believe the villager was drunk. Jack watched as a heavyset woman came out and tried to lead the man into one of the houses. The drunk was completely uncooperative, even aggressive with the woman, surprising Jack when he eventually leaned over and bit her in the arm. Despite the distance, Jack could hear her scream as she slapped at the drunkard and pulled away. The lurching man stumbled after the woman until she ran into a house and slammed the door in his face. Jack thought the drunk must have lived there too because he stood scratching and pawing at the door for at least an hour after the incident before finally stumbling away in his peculiar walk.

  When daylight arrived, he could see the village less than half a mile away as well as several of the hazmat roadblocks set up below him. As far as Jack could tell, not one person had tried to leave the village during his watch. Once in a while villagers moved furtively to and from what he assumed was a well, but not many of the locals were out this day. He did note that the woman he’d seen bitten by the drunk walked out to the well, her arm wrapped in a dirty white rag. She was easy to pick out from the rest of the women venturing to the well since she appeared to be the only one who seemed to be getting enough to eat. After counting the dwellings in the village, he guessed that at least five hundred people lived there, but fewer than ten showed themselves before his relief arrived. As he watched the sniper approach from above he noticed that the blond soldier seemed to be in a better mood today.

  “See anythin’ entertainin’ while I was gone?” the Ranger joked.

  “Nothing last night,” Jack replied, “but a few villagers were moving around just after dawn.”

  “Yeah, they got a few wells in the middle of the village and the women go out for the day’s water after sunrise. I’m tellin’ ya though, nobody moves without light that I can tell. No men come out, and nobody has tried to leave. I think most of the people are sick.”

  Jack’s body released an involuntary shudder as he agreed, “I think you’re right.” He held out his hand and continued, “Sorry I was playing twenty questions with you last night when you were cold and tired; it’s just that nobody has told me a damn thing about why we’re up here except that I might need to shoot civilians.”

  “Sgt. Carter Wilson.” The soldier gave Jack’s outstretched hand a firm shake. “I’m from Kentucky originally, but with the Army for five years and the Rangers for two.”

  “I’m from Indiana,” Jack replied. “Been with the 82nd for three years, but spent most of that time with division intelligence. I’ve got all the training in the world, including Ranger School, but haven’t needed to use any of it yet.”

  “Well, don’t worry too much about this goat-rope up here. Somebody farts bad and these bio-guys make a big deal out of it; guess it gives ‘em somethin’ to do.”

  With Carter obviously in a better mood this morning, Jack decided to try some more questions. “Any idea why all they gave us was M-4s with iron sights? Coming down that hill last night without NVGs was a pain in the neck.”

  Carter took off his helmet and rubbed his short hair before replying, “Near as I can figure they don’t want us bein’ able to see much of what’s goin’ on down in that village. But I’ll tell ya what, they run into any trouble down at those roadblocks I ain’t shootin’ in that direction unless all our guys are outta the way. I can blow the balls off a robin at three hundred meters with this thing, but there ain’t no way in hell I’m gonna fire in the direction of some of our guys without optics. And don’t even get me talkin’ ‘bout after dark; someone will have to fall on me screamin’ in Farsi before I pull my trigger.”

  Now Jack felt a little more confident, “Man, I was freaked out for a while after you left last night. I don’t know where the other shooters are, and nobody told me any passwords. I felt like I was the only G.I. in Afghanistan the whole time I was out here.”

  Carter strapped his helmet back on, quickly looking back toward the ridge as he explained, “I still don’t know where anybody besides the road block crews are, and there ain’t no passwords. You’re either on post or in your tent. Nobody here’s said more than hi to me since I got my orders. But I’ll tell ya what, I got me a fifth of Beam in my pack and I’m gonna get that guy that brings the MREs around to have a few shots with me next time he comes by. He’s gotta know somethin’ ‘bout this place. Look man, you better get movin’. They don’t even want us talkin’ to each other when we take post. I’ll start leavin’ some notes in the rocks. Ya got pen and paper in your pack?”

  “I’ve got some in the tent; I’ll bring it with me tonight and write you back.” Jack winked as he strapped on his pack and headed past Carter up the mountain, smiling as he heard his replacement laughing to himself as he settled in for his long, cold watch over the village.

  At the end of the next shift Carter was in a hurry to get back to camp. Jack didn’t blame him since the temperature had fallen to ten degrees Fahrenheit, and the wind was howling in their faces. The Ranger did reveal in a hushed voice, “There’s been some screamin’ down there since dark. Don’t sound like grief neither; sounds more like fear. Pretty sure people runnin’ around too, ‘cause some of the screams seemed to be movin’ around.”

  He moved even closer to Jack and whispered, “Sgt. Peterson dropped by a few hours after ya left this mornin’ and wanted to know what we were talkin’ about. I told him ya were just tryin’ to update me on the fact thatcha didn’t see nothin’ for twelve hours, but he didn’t like it. I hid the note I wrote exactly five feet to the left of our shootin’ position. I scraped out some dirt under a boulder and then buried it. Marked the spot with a white rock. I’ll look there tomorrow to see if ya wrote back, but when I replace ya at noon don’t do nothin’ more than nod as we pass each other.”

  Jack waited about ten minutes before searching for the letter, and then he immediately found it hidden right where Carter said it would be. After looking around with his small NVG scope to be sure he was alone on the dark slope, he grabbed a poncho from his pack and pulled it over his head. Once hidden from prying eyes, Jack flipped on his pen light and anxiously read the letter written in remarkably good penmanship from the Ranger who talked like an uneducated hillbilly.

  I may be worrying too much about this operation, but make sure you destroy this letter after reading it, and I’ll do the same with anything you leave with me. Something isn’t right about this situation up here, and you need to be very careful about where you go, who you talk to, and stop asking so many questions. The Rangers up here are all cool with each other, and you can count on them to guard your back. But they won’t be offering any information to you so don’t even try with any of them. I’ll let my closest buddies know that you’re all right, but that’s about all I can do.

  Here’s what I know so far:

  The night we arrived on the ridge Sgt. Peterson and Colonel Barnes came in by chopper and asked for a Ranger patrol to cover them as they slipped into the village. My buddy Marcus volunteered so I went along to keep an eye on him. Peterson was carrying a strange looking weapon. The barrel was as big as a .50 cal, but the rifle seemed about as rugged as a pellet gun. I thought maybe it was a flare gun or something, but I later learned that it was one of those dart guns like zoo keepers and wildlife biologists use to subdue big animals.

  Anyway, Peterson took up a s
hooting position about ten yards off of an alley where we had to wait about two hours for some drunkard to stumble by. The sergeant shot him in the thigh and the man squealed for a moment before dropping to the ground. At that point Peterson told us all to pull back about twenty yards, which was damn strange since he immediately broke cover and went out to the guy he’d just dropped. He pulled the Afghan between a few buildings, where Barnes began pulling stuff from his pack and working on the guy they’d darted. A few minutes later Peterson ran back and told us to lead them back to the ridge. We asked what they had been doing with the Afghan, but all he said was that they were “marking” the guy.

  Now here we are surrounding the place with hazmat teams and Ranger snipers. It all seems damn strange to me, and I don’t like the fact that they have us all separated and won’t let us talk to each other. These USAMRIID dudes give me the creeps. Anyway, something should be happening soon. It’s been three days since we “marked” that villager, so whatever they’re worried about down there must have been incubating for some time before that.

  So there it is; that’s what I’ve learned since I arrived here. If anything happens to go wrong on one of your shifts DO NOT leave your post. Regardless of orders, I will be heading down here to cover your back at the first sound of trouble. Let me know if you’ll be doing the same. We’ll have our own passwords. Since you’re from Indiana, whichever of us is approaching will call out INDY, the return will be COLTS and PACERS.

  Hope to hear from you when I come back.

  Jack decided to wait till daylight to destroy the letter, just in case he wanted to refer back to it as he composed his response. Now he really didn’t know what was going on up here. USAMRID was almost certainly conducting some sort of experiment in the village. Peterson and Barnes had either infected the man they knocked out, or perhaps given him a vaccine. Either way it was a crummy thing to do. If they had deliberately infected the man they were just plain evil, and if they thought they had a vaccine they should help all of those poor people down there. He had come over here under the impression that Al Qaida and the Taliban were the enemy, but now here the Army seemed to be using a bunch of ultra-isolated civilians as a giant lab experiment. And worst of all, he was expected to shoot anyone who tried to escape this abhorrent situation.