The Rising Horde, Volume One
Page 16
“All right. We will.” There was a long pause. “You should probably be here with us, Dave.”
Gartrell winced. “I know, hon. But the mission I’m on is directly related to what’s going on. Can’t cut and run right now.”
“Are you still with McDaniels?”
“Yes. I’ve been promoted to sergeant major. I’m his CSM now. He heads up a quick reaction force down here in Texas.”
“You were promoted?” Laurie laughed, and the sound was like music to his ears. “You mean it only took the zombie apocalypse for that to happen?”
Gartrell chuckled. “I guess it did.”
“How are things going… between you and him?”
“We’re not holding hands and taking long walks through the moonlit night, but things are better now.”
“Really?” Laurie sounded amazed. “And just how did that happen, David?”
Gartrell thought about trying to explain what he and McDaniels had gone through in New York City, and what he had discovered about himself after staying behind in that city as it fell to the dead. Ultimately, he decided that it was just too much to go into over the phone.
“It’s complicated. It’s nothing too earth shattering, but I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. Are the girls around?” he asked, changing the subject.
“They’re right here. Which do you want to speak with first?”
“Both of them. Put me on speaker.”
Gartrell spent a few moments talking to his daughters—Emily, seventeen and bookish, ignorant of her long-limbed good looks, and Alexandra, thirteen and awkward with her braces and her changing body. He tried to assure them that things were going to work out, that if they did what their mother told them and remembered what he had taught them, they would be fine. But it was difficult; they were so far away, and the satellite link did nothing to bring them closer. Gartrell wondered if it would be possible to have them relocated to Texas. They were already in a remote location. Would bringing them to the Texas desert make them any safer?
He checked his watch and saw he was perilously close to being late for yet another meeting in the Tactical Operations Center.
“Guys, I’m sorry. I have to go,” he told his family. “I’ll try and get a hold of you later tonight. Laurie, you and the girls make sure the place stays dark. Put the blackout shades in place and make sure they’re secure.”
“We’ll take care of it, Dave,” Laurie said. The girls said their good-byes, and Gartrell told them he loved them. Then, Laurie took the phone off speaker.
“How are they doing?” he asked.
“They’re doing fine. As well as can be expected. They’re worried about their friends, and of course, what’s going on is… well, who could be prepared for that? I mean, really?”
Gartrell knew exactly what she meant. There was no way a person could fundamentally accept that the walking dead had become part of the American landscape. It was the stuff of fiction, not hard-edged reality. “I gotta go. I love you, hon. You and the girls are in my mind… always.”
“Same here, Dave. Hope you can come back to us soon.”
“I’ll try.” He disconnected the link, then returned the satellite phone to the charging cradle inside the PCC. And as he walked to the TOC, he wondered if he had his priorities completely straight: he was in Texas, and his family was holed up in a cabin in the Smoky Mountains in western North Carolina.
Something about that just didn’t seem right.
###
“Sir? We’ve got zeds in Corpus Christi.”
McDaniels was in the TOC, sitting at a small cubicle and working on his latest wish list on one of the center’s ubiquitous laptop computers while waiting for the Rangers and the Special Forces troops to get settled. The SEALs had also arrived, and they’d brought all of their toys in the two C-17 cargo jets the Air Force had provisioned for the purpose. Adding to the menagerie of Special Forces vehicles, the SEALs had provided their Desert Patrol Vehicles, or DPVs. The lightly-armored dune buggy-like vehicles were faster overland than the M1114 Humvee, and since they were armed specifically for the occasion, they could prosecute tailor-made engagements that were usually beyond the purview of regular military forces. The arrival of the well-equipped SEALs left McDaniels feeling nice and rosy. The more gear that showed up, the less he would have to try to scrounge.
He looked up at the operations center NCO who delivered the news. “Corpus Christi? Isn’t that somewhere on the Texas coast?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So it would be, what, five hundred miles from here?”
“A little less than that, so it’s not exactly right next door. But it is where all those CONEX containers you and the sarmajor requested are coming from.”
Not good. “How many are we talking about?”
The sergeant pointed to one of the LED displays carrying a civilian news feed. “CNN’s all over it, sir.”
McDaniels pushed his chair back, turned to the bank of monitors, and found the one with the CNN feed. “Can you give me the volume?”
“I can put it directly onto your computer, sir.” The NCO did something at his station, and the image from the screen appeared in a small window on McDaniels’s laptop.
McDaniels raised the volume and listened to the report over the computer’s onboard speakers. He leaned toward the display. The cubicle he sat at was so small that his broad shoulders contacted the partitions on either side.
“…confirmed reports of literally dozens of zombies stepping out of the Gulf of Mexico on Padre Island to the east of Corpus Christi. While authorities worked fast to clear the beaches, there are some reports of fatalities from swimmers and campers being taken down by the infected as they came ashore.” The gussied-up male reporter wore a short-sleeved blue Polo shirt. He held a microphone and faced the camera with a somber expression on his tanned face, summoning up as much professional gravitas as any member of the media could. “But what’s more telling is that now several other zombies have appeared here, right in Corpus Christi, emerging from Corpus Christi Bay where they were met by police and vigilant, armed citizens. We have some amateur video of one such encounter, and we’ll play that for you now…”
The image switched from the concerned reporter to a choppy picture that showed several stenches climbing over a low-lying seawall. In the background, people screamed while someone, apparently the videographer, narrated the scene.
“They’re coming over the seawall. Don’t know how they got here. Must’a climbed up from the bottom of the bay. There’s… let’s see, one, two, three… four of ’em. God, just look at these things. They’re just like what we’ve been seein’ on the news in New York and DC.”
The location graphic at the lower right portion of the screen read Swantner Park, Corpus Christi, TX. Amateur video, recorded less than one hour ago.
“Juan, get away from there, man! Some of those things can run!” cried a voice off-camera. A young Hispanic teenager appeared in the frame. He gestured at the zombies as they slowly crawled up the wall. One of the zeds made a beeline for him, and as McDaniels watched, he knew the man was doomed. Not all of the zombies moved at a sloth-like pace, and the one after the teen was a faster one. Before the boy could do more than take two steps back, the ghoul was all over him. It took him to the ground and slashed at his face and neck with its teeth; blood flowed. The teen screamed as uniformed police ran up, firing their pistols at the encroaching grotesqueries. Another policeman herded the small crowd away from the engagement, including the cameraman. As the videographer backed away, two Humvees rolled up, and troops in BDUs and body armor joined the fray. They zeroed the zeds easily enough, but not before the man they’d attacked had been infected. And one officer was bitten as well.
They’re spreading faster than we thought they would.
As the report continued, McDaniels leaned back in his chair and looked at the operations NCO. “Okay, so they’re in Corpus Christi, where our CONEXs are. How many containers do we have en route?”
“It’s pretty important we keep track of what’s coming in, especially if there’s a chance the transportation network is going to be compromised,” McDaniels said. “Do me a favor and start reaching out for some confirmation from the Navy that we’re still going to get our stuff. If we have to make alternate arrangements to get what we need, we’d be better off finding that out before the stenches join us here, right?”
“Roger that, Colonel. I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Good man. And I’ll have another list for you after my next meeting.”
“Can’t wait, sir.”
McDaniels chuckled politely, even though he wasn’t in a very jolly mood. He closed the media player window on his laptop and went back to work on his list, checking quantities and resources. He had only a few minutes more to work on it before the leaders of the Rangers, SEALs, Night Stalkers, and Special Forces entered the TOC—twelve troops in total. And following them was Gartrell, Jaworski, and Captain Chase.
“Okay, folks, let’s get organized. We’ve got more personnel than seats.” McDaniels turned to Jaworski. “Colonel, I’m thinking we’re going to need to provision either another tactical trailer for us to meet in, or we’re going to have to hold these little soirees in a tent.”
“Already ahead of you on that, Cord. We’ve got two more inbound, Air Force units this time, from the 802nd Mission Support Group. They’re already heading up from Joint Base Lackland. I figured I’d grab them now before the deadheads make it to San Antonio and things grind to a stop, since I’m pretty sure tens of thousands of zombies would make for interesting driving conditions.” Jaworski looked at McDaniels and smiled vaguely.
“Well, that’s what I call leaning forward in the foxhole, sir.”
“I decided to try and take the initiative for once. Gotta admit, I don’t much like it.” Jaworski looked around the assembled military personnel. “So we have some SEALS, some Rangers, and some Green Berets. Colonel McDaniels, maybe we should go through a round of introductions once everyone’s settled down.”
“Roger that, sir. Let’s get squared away, folks.”
Introductions were made, and Jaworski shook the hand of each officer and each enlisted man. McDaniels had no idea if any of the names were sticking with the task force commander; Jaworski was that difficult to read. It was easy to dismiss him as a pencil-pushing rubber-stamping kind of officer, but that couldn’t be the case. He wouldn’t have the job otherwise.
“So, Colonel Haley, it looks like you’re the senior guy here after McDaniels,” Jaworksi said finally.
“Yes, sir, it seems that way,” Haley said.
“Good. I take it that none of you guys have any issues working together?” Jaworski looked around the crowded conference area. “Rangers and Special Forces, I think you guys probably interoperate fairly routinely, but what about the Navy?”
“Nothing to worry about as far as we go, sir,” said the SEAL ranking officer, a lieutenant commander named Rawlings. “We always try to play well with our weaker sister services.”
“Ha, ha,” Switchblade Lewis said. “The only reason you haven’t dropped your panties already is because you’re holding out for some Marines.”
“Well, they do tend to wear less body spray,” Rawlings said. He was a narrow-faced man with a thin mustache and sandy-colored hair he wore in the usual medium whitewall fashion. Even though there was mirth in his voice, his pale eyes were emotionless. McDaniels rather thought that Switch’s comment had annoyed him, but the Navy officer was covering it up. McDaniels made a mental note of that. The rest of the assembled warriors chuckled at the exchange.
Jaworski caught McDaniels’s eye for a moment, then stepped back to lean against the wall Gartrell had leaned against earlier in the day. “Well, whatever your dating preferences might be, I think we can safely say no Marines will be joining SPARTA. Anyway, what we’re here to discuss is how we’re going to start operating. First things first, the stenches are closing in. Texas was pretty much in the clear yesterday, but now there are zeds walking out of the Gulf of Mexico and crossing over the Rio Grande. San Antonio and Corpus Christi are at some risk at the moment, and we don’t see that risk diminishing in a meaningful fashion over the next twenty-four to seventy-two hours. SPARTA is a long way away from either trending infestation, but get this—the medical community says that at least eighty percent of the American population is infected with the first stage virus that started all of this. Only a small percentage of those infected get sick and die, so if everyone here is feeling all right, then we probably don’t have anything to worry about in the short term. But Odessa, Midland, Killeen, Fort Hood, they’re all fairly local to us, and we can expect someone to expire and reanimate any moment now. Obviously, the reanimated corpse will attack the living, and it will bite people and transfer the second stage virus directly. That infected individual will die from the encounter, and the cycle will begin again unless the brain is severely traumatized prior to the transition. So we’re on some thin ice right now, and we need to start buttoning up this facility and keep it secure for the long haul.” Jaworski pointed at McDaniels. “And that is where this man comes in. Colonel McDaniels is in charge of the QRF, call sign HERCULES. You folks will largely report to him, and he will in turn report back to me. I’ll let him take it from here. You have the floor, Cord.”
McDaniels turned to Rawlings. “So is Hooks Johnston still with your detachment?”
“You knew Hooks?”
“We had some interesting times in Afghanistan back in 2006,” Gartrell said. “Around Samarra.”
Rawlings glanced at his senior petty officer, who looked at Gartrell and McDaniels. “Before my time with the team, sir,” the petty officer said.
Rawlings grunted. “Hooks was with the detachment up until about three months ago. He was released from duty. Pancreatic cancer. He didn’t make it.”
“Oh.” McDaniels grimaced and exchanged an uneasy glance with Gartrell in the awkward silence that followed the declaration. “Damn. Sorry to hear that. We didn’t stay in touch, but he was a hell of man.”
“He was. I was under his command for two years. Best guy I ever worked for,” Rawlings said.
McDaniels nodded. “You’ll have to fill me and the sarmajor in on the specifics later. Getting back to business, our mission is to protect this installation and defend it against the zeds… and anything else that might come our way. I think you can tell from the various news reports that what’s going down is taking a hell of a toll on the country. Just from what Gartrell and I saw in New York, law and order is going to be one of the first victims if an infestation takes hold in our area of operations, and we can expect a lot of very anxious civilians to come here looking for shelter and protection, which we can’t really provide. To that end, any refugees that wind up on our front lawn are to be directed to Fort Hood. That’s the closest evacuation center where there’s a military presence.”
“Going to be tough on resources if all of Odessa has to bug out,” Switch noted.
“True, but that’s not our problem. If the hammer comes down, I’d like to hope we can help out, but our mission is to protect this facility and keep it operational while the civilians develop whatever vaccine Safire dreamed up. We’re far enough away from the action for now that maybe we won’t have to make any tough choices, but we need to prepare ourselves for the eventuality that we might have to turn away Americans in need. All of you need to communicate that to your troops, because if someone isn’t onboard with that and we allow infected individuals into the premi
ses, we’ll have a bigger problem.”
“I agree that we don’t want to be fighting the stenches on multiple fronts as well as our own rear area, but turning away Americans in need isn’t exactly what my troops signed up for,” Haley said. “That’s going to be a tough sell, especially to soldiers who are from this area, and I’ve got plenty of locals in my battalion, Colonel Jaworski.”
Jaworski looked at Haley. “I read you on that, Colonel Haley. But that comes straight from SOCOM, and they got the ‘guidance’ from Washington. No one here is going to like it if it happens, but it’s what we have to do.”
“So onward, Christian soldiers, is that it?” Haley responded flatly.
McDaniels thought back to what had happened in New York, when he had automatically ordered the Special Forces team he was with to abandon a woman and her child. Even if they had tried to help, it wouldn’t have mattered; the zeds had taken both down before anyone could even step out of the Humvee to assist.
“We have some personal experience with what you’re talking about, Colonel.” Gartrell’s voice was neutral, as expressionless as Haley’s face. “I can tell you that when it comes down to it, the troops will make the right choice. There’s no facing the dead and expecting them to give any quarter. We either defend this installation, or we don’t, and if that means we have to turn our backs on Americans in danger, it’s what we have to do. The dead, they’re almost as dumb as a pile of bricks, but some of them, maybe just a few of them…” Gartrell tapped his temple. “…they remember. And if we give them an opening, they’ll exploit it. You can count on that.”
“I’ve heard that some of the dead can do things. That they can remember things.” Rawlings looked at McDaniels. “You were in New York, Colonel. Is it true that some of those things really can… what? Plan?”
“We were ambushed by members of the alpha detachment we were with,” McDaniels said. “They used vehicles and weapons against us directly, in both brute force attacks and in more refined circumstances, like fixing us in place with automatic fire. And Sergeant Major Gartrell personally witnessed a zed use its building key to gain entrance into an apartment building. So yes, some of them have the ability to do the unexpected. As if mass attacks weren’t enough.”