World of Corpses (Book 1): World of Corpses

by Cook, Scott W.

  “Mother of God…” Carl said in a quavering voice, “The carnage… how many rounds do you think they fired?”

  “All of them,” Sam said, checking a machine gun nest that had been set up. The weapon’s feed tray was open and thousands of spent casings littered the area. Some poor marine had been half torn to shreds by a group of ravenous ghouls. Some merciful soul had put a bullet in his head along with the five zombies that had been feasting on him. What was left was indescribably hideous.

  Carl began to sweat and wiped his forehead with his sleeve, “Fuck me… fuck me…”

  “Take it easy, Carl,” Sam said, putting a hand on his shoulder, “This looks like it happened a while ago.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Carl asked stupidly, sluggishly as if his mind were moving through mud. I couldn’t blame him.

  “I’m saying there probably aren’t any G’s around now,” Sam said flatly and in a low tone almost in contradiction to his words.

  “I don’t like this, Sharky,” I said in an equally quiet voice, “It’s beyond creepy and we’re all alone here.”

  Sam nodded, “Then let’s see what we can see and get the hell outta here. Where’s the supply depot?”

  “For what?” I asked, “Food, ammo, weapons, parts, what?”

  “All of it,” Sam said, “The armory is priority. Then logistics.”

  “We’re gonna need a truck,” I said.

  “Roger that,” Sam said, “Let’s move into the interior of the base and find one there. Less likely to draw any outside attention once we start it up.”

  “The sooner we’re away from this graveyard the better,” Carl muttered as we got back on our bikes.

  It was hard to disagree. I don’t care how much combat you’ve seen or how much training you have… seeing this much death and destruction and on such a large scale is hard to get over. Especially when you know that it was your fucking team that lost.

  I led them down a side street and toward the flight line and a series of storage facilities. There were several places where supplies were kept, including small arms, ammo, munitions, food and water and other stuff.

  After seeing the carnage along the outer perimeter of the base, the relative barrenness near the center was equally disturbing. I began to wonder if there’d be anything left to take at this point.

  The flight line was nearly empty, which I thought was odd. There were a couple of C37’s and tankers as well as a few helos, but that’s it. I sure would like to know what happened here.

  I know I’ve talked about the silence of the world before… but I guess, being in this scene of a total defeat… it bears repeating. Remember, I used to work at this base. It was always busy. Between the sounds of aircraft, vehicles, human voices and just the random background of humanity, this base always seemed so alive to me.

  And now it was dead… really, really dead…

  We arrived at a hardened building near the center of the base, right across the street from the flight line. It was a single story concrete and steel bunker looking building of about two thousand square feet. One of the small arms storage facilities.

  “That doesn’t look promising,” Carl said, pointing to the single entrance door. The two inch thick steel door was hanging open and led into pitch darkness.

  Sam made a non-committal sound, “No… but the weapons and ammo are usually locked up in a vault inside. Let’s check it out anyway.”

  The place was cleaned out.

  “God damn!” Carl said in exasperation, “all this way and all of this bullshit and there’s nothing!”

  “Probably used it all up during the zombie attack,” Sam said, “The ammo at least. I’m sure we can find weapons by the score lying around the base.”

  Carl sighed in frustration, “We’ve got weapons, right? What we really wanted was ammo.”

  “There’s another small arms vault,” I said, “it may have some.”

  “And we may have to scavenge,” Sam said, “Check the vehicles, the buildings, etc.”

  “That could take days,” Carl said as we walked back out into the morning sunshine, “For the three of us.”

  “Carl,” Sam said with a strong hint of irritation in his voice, “This is what we’ve got to work with. You’re free to go back to the pickup point and call for a lift. But the complaining isn’t helping anything.”

  Carl sighed, “I’m sorry, Sam… I guess the desolation and the constant reminder of the thousands of dead here is getting to me.”

  “I know,” Sam said more gently, “It’s the same for us. Let’s try and focus on our job and get it done so we can get the hell outta here.”

  “Then let’s take that,” Carl pointed to a duce and ahalf truck parked near the empty armory, “We’re gonna need something anyway, right?”

  Sam nodded and we went over to inspect the two and a half ton truck with the canvas cover over the bed. Sam turned the ignition and the dash board lights lit up.

  “Quarter of a tank of fuel,” Sam said, “should be plenty.”

  The truck started and its big diesel engine sounded like a roaring dragon in the near perfect silence of the morning. Oddly, rather than breaking the eerie quiet, the truck’s engine seemed to add to it. It was as if the silence had closed in around us… as if we were smothered in a loud silence that wouldn’t let us hear anything important.

  “Christ,” I grumbled as I climbed in next to Carl, who sat in the center of the bench, “This place is starting to fucking freak me out.”

  Sam only set his jaw, “Where to, Major?”

  “End of the flight line,” I said, pointing, “There’s a marine ordinance bunker down there.”

  Sam shrugged and turned the big truck in the direction I indicated, “Hell, the marines were probably the first to join the defense perimeter. Wonder if there’s anything left there either.”

  We soon found out. Like the first armory, the marine ordinance shack, which was basically the same design as the first, had its front door thrown open. We parked the truck near the door, shut it down and the three of us went in, Sam first, then me and then Carl.

  It was our standard clearing protocol. At least standard for us. Carl was just learning.

  We’d enter a building and one person would go left and one would go right. That way we could sweep the entire room and whatever was beyond, depending on the internal layout. Once we were in and gave the all clear sign, the third person or fourth and so on would enter.

  Again, there was only an outer anteroom with a security desk and the door to the vault, which also stood open. Simple and clean.

  Although not as clean as the first bunker. This one had a stronger smell. It’s sort of hard to describe… but military people will know what I mean. There’s a certain scent that is like nothing else. It’s part ammunition, part gun oil, part explosives and part military industry, I guess.

  “Fuck yeah!” Carl said a bit too loudly as we stepped in and flicked on the lights.

  There was no power on the base, but most important buildings had battery backups with solar rechargers for emergency lighting. The four fluorescent bulbs that glowed to life on the ceiling showed that unlike the first armory, this one hadn’t been sucked dry.

  There were racks for all sorts of weapons. Pistols, rifles, assault rifles, machine guns, RPG’s, you name it. Most were empty but there was a small portion of the weapons left.

  And at least a quarter of the ammo was still in here. Crates of five-five-six rounds, seven six two belt-fed rounds for the machine guns, a crate of grenades for an RPG and plenty of other types and calibers.

  There was also combat and demolition ordinance, too. Hand grenades, shells for rifle mounted grenade launchers, claymores, det cord, C4, blasting caps and remote detonators and that was just for starters.

  “The Goddamned motherlode!” Carl said happily, his unease of a few minutes before fading away.

  “About a quarter of what’s supposed to be in here,” Sam noted, “but for our li
ttle group, it’s a gold mine for sure.”

  We took turns hauling ammo and weapons out to the truck. There would always be somebody outside while the other two went inside so that we could keep our eye on things.

  After about fifteen minutes, I was standing watch near the truck while Sam and Carl brought out the last of the munitions. I was feeling really uneasy, standing out in the bright sunshine all by myself. It was just so quiet… I can’t quite explain, but the silence had a menace to it… like it was a heaviness that pressed down on you and tried to send your very soul into a deep depression.

  I don’t know, I suppose at the time that it was just being alone out there. You’d think that the broad daylight would help, but strangely I felt more uneasy standing outside and exposed by the truck all by myself than being inside the dim armory.

  There was something different about this silence. I should have figured it out, then. I should have recognized the danger signals my lizard brain was shouting at me. But that’s the problem. Even trained soldiers tend to ignore that ancient and primitive part of our brains… yet in a world of corpses, not listening to that inner voice was deadly.

  ‘Hey,” Sam said softly and I jumped, “You okay? You seem jumpy and agitated.”

  “I don’t know, Sam,” I said, giving him a quick hug, “I just feel weird. I guess it’s this place.”

  “I know what you mean,” Carl said as he came out of the building with a couple of ammo boxes, “I’ve felt that way since we got here. Not hard to do, what with thousands and thousands of dead bodies all over the place.”

  Sam nodded, “It’s like we’re violating a graveyard and the very restless spirits are not happy about it.”

  I frowned, “Yeah… okay, next we’ve got to check for food and then medical supplies.”

  “I’ll bet the infirmary is fucked,” Sam said as he got into the driver’s seat of the big truck, “Probably a cluster fuck of dead and undead… maybe even a few that aren’t taken care of. You know how hospitals are.”

  ‘I’d think it’d be different here,” Carl suggested.

  “Maybe,” Sam said, “What do you think, Andrea? Aside from the main medical center, where could we find other supplies like that?”

  I frowned, “Well, there’s stuff stored all over the base. We can either go building by building or head over to admin and pull some of the logistics reports.

  “Okay,” Sam said, “Let’s do that. I think I’d rather know what’s stored where than blunder over this base all day. I’d sure like to get the hell outta here myself.”

  I directed him to the main administration building. As we drove, Carl put up a hand, “How do we get all this shit back to the boats? Coming over here, it didn’t look like we’d be able to get this truck back to the pickup point.”

  “We could fly out,” I said, “Load up a helo and go out to Passage Key or Egmont. We land, unload and transfer everything out in the dinks.”

  Sam frowned, “We might need to. We could also drive south on seventy-five. Have the boats meet us in Bradenton along the Manatee River or something. Let’s figure that out when we’ve got some supplies to worry about.”

  “Have you checked in?” I asked.

  “Just before we left the armory,” Sam said, “Everything is good. That it?”

  Sam pointed to a three story building surrounded by a handful of vehicles and mounds of the dead.

  “Yeah,” I said, “Fuck this place…”

  Sam pulled the truck right up to the main entrance. The double glass doors had been bashed in and left only a yawning rectangle that opened into darkness.

  “I agree,” Carl said glumly, “That does not look inviting.”

  “As I see it,” Sam said with a sigh, “We’ve got a couple of choices. We split up and each take a floor, we stick together and go floor by floor or we break into two groups. Thoughts?”

  That went over like a turd in a punchbowl.

  “Yeah, I’m not keen on splitting up, either,” Sam said, “However, counter insurgency and infiltration are some of my specialties. So here’s what I propose. I’ll go in alone and head to the top floor. You two stick together and work your way up. We’ll meet on the second. Walkies only. We’ll start on channel one and walk up the odd numbered freqes every five minutes. Okay?”

  I nodded. Carl swallowed hard and nodded too.

  “I’m red, Andrea is green and you’re yellow, Carl,” Sam explained, “When talking on the radio, you call out who you want and who you are. As in, ‘Red, yellow, what’s your status?’ If you’re in trouble, respond with black. No names, no locations and no uncoded details.”

  “Who the hell is gonna hear us?” Carl asked.

  “First rule of radio communication in combat,” Sam continued, “You follow what I said because these are open frequencies and anybody can hear up to several miles away. Who knows if anybody can hear us… but the stuff that’s happened in the last few days means we follow the book just in case.”

  “Okay,” Carl said, “But I don’t want to be yellow… makes me sound like a chicken.”

  I grinned and Sam smiled, “I didn’t say yella… but all right, what’s your color? Keep in mind that Tony is blue and Andy orange, so those are taken permanently.”

  Carl sucked his teeth and said in an effeminate tone, “Mauve, silly.”

  I laughed and even Sam chuckled. I was glad to see his mood lighten, even as mine had darkened. Also glad to see Carl relax a bit. This was exactly why you joked on an op.

  “Christ…” Sam shook his head, “Okay, wise ass, you’re silver, Brenda is gold and Tara will be pink. Let’s roll.”

  Sam maneuvered the truck so that the tailgate was only a few feet from the door. We got out, checked our weapons and ammo for what must have been the tenth time and headed inside. The darkness in the building was deep but not complete. There was some light from the doors and windows. Ironically, being enclosed in this dark and confined space actually felt… better. Not good, but not as creepy as being outside.

  “Is it weird to feel less creeped out in here than out there?” Carl asked as we stood in the small lobby.

  I giggled. Nerves, I guess, “I was just thinking that.”

  Carl shivered, “it’s like… there’s this oppressive feeling out there. Like something is pressing in on us, you know?”

  I did know, “Yeah… like… I don’t know what, exactly.”

  “Expectation,” Sam offered in a flat tone, “It feels like the whole world is gathering around us and any minute, the flood gates will open and chaos will come pouring out.”

  “Yeah,” Carl said, “Like evil is getting ready to sneeze or something.”

  “And like it’s watching us,” I added with a shiver of my own, “Like something bad is tracking everything we do and any minute now…”

  “Okay, okay,” Sam said, raising a hand, “Stow that shit. Let’s not stand here getting wigged out. I’m headed upstairs. You two scout this floor and see what you can find. Radio checks every five minutes on minimum volume.”

  Right off the lobby, which looked like a tornado had come through it, was a bank of two elevators and the stairwell. Sam eased the door open and stood there for a moment, listening with his head poked slightly in the door.

  The stairwell was really dark in a way that didn’t fill you with a sense of good will. More of a Friday the 13th or Nightmare on Elm Street kind of dark.

  After a few seconds, Sam eased inside and let the door close behind him. Carl was right next to me, probably a little closer than normal, “What’s the plan?”

  “This building has a single U-shaped hallway,” I said and pointed to the other side of the lobby where another hallway opened up about sixty feet away, “Let’s start here and work methodically through all the offices and stuff.”

  “What’re we looking for?” Carl asked.

  I shrugged, “Not sure. Logistics info. Where supplies are stored, like we talked about. Medical supplies other than the infirmary, that k
ind of thing. MRE stores, water, other food, etc. Emergency supplies and the like. I figure a lot of this will be wasted time, but let’s see what we come up with.”

  It was pretty much a bust, too. All of the offices were empty… well, in a way. There were bodies everywhere. We must have walked over and around dozens of dead zombies in the hallways, and found plenty more in some of the offices. We also found real people, too.

  In one office, there was an Air Force captain still sitting behind his desk. He was surrounded by nine zombies. There were several bloody tears in his uniform and a large blood caked hole in his temple where he’d pressed the barrel of his forty-five. The gun lay on the bloody carpet where it’d fallen after his final impulse.

  The carpet around the desk was a congealed mat of blood and organic matter that looked to be an inch thick.

  “Oh, Jesus…” Carl breathed, backing toward the door.

  “A world of corpses,” I muttered, unable to take my eyes off the captain. I hadn’t known him, but seeing this example of cruelty and the barbaric theft of his humanity made me cringe and left a dull sadness in my heart.

  On the desk was one of those plastic cubes you put photos in. Somehow it was still sitting there, untouched. In the cube were pics of the captain and a pretty blonde woman and two cute young kids. Three were portraits of what must have been his wife and kids and one was a group photo taken at a base cookout, I’d guess.

  The man had fought bravely and had been bitten repeatedly. With his last bullet, he’d scrambled his brains so he wouldn’t turn.

  I couldn’t help wondering what his last thoughts must have been. Was he thinking about her? About his son and daughter? Was he sad or angry or terrified? Maybe he’d thought that if he blew his own brains out, there’d be no way he’d shamble back to his residence as one of the undead to attack his own family.