Zombie Night In Canada (Book 2): 2nd Period

by Friesen, Jamie

  Xander winced at the sound and then used his boot to clear away any jagged bits of glass from the edges, then crawled inside.

  Despite the broken window, it was dark inside. He rummaged around in his backpack and pulled out a flashlight, then hefted his pack onto his back and began to scout the room. A desk sat in the corner, opposite several filing cabinets. Otherwise, it was empty and non-descript, most likely it had been an office building in the days before the world went to shit.

  He walked to the door and pressed his ear against it, listening for any sounds on the other side. Hearing nothing, he slowly opened the door and was assaulted by the stench of rotting flesh.

  His flashlight sprayed across the room and illuminated at least a dozen zombies standing there, motionless. As one, they turned towards him and charged. He backed into the office and fired, hoping to slow them down by using the doorway as a chokepoint. He dropped zombie after zombie until his gun clicked on an empty chamber. He shoved the pistol into his pocket and was reaching for the baseball bat in his pack when two zombies pulled him down to the ground.

  The TV screen in front of Xander filled with red and the words, GAME OVER appeared.

  “Fucking game!” Xander cursed as he threw the controller down in disgust.

  He looked at his watch and sighed. He’d spent only a couple days in quarantine and he was already out of ways to entertain himself.

  What the hell am I going to do for the next three days, he thought to himself. He picked up the controller and started the game again up.

  “Maybe I can beat this goddamned level,” he muttered and started it up again.

  --------

  Dan glanced at the empty bottle of scotch. While he had found a niche for himself on the base, there were days like today when everything just went to shit. All he could think of was how unfair it was that he survived and so many others didn’t.

  His wife.

  His unborn child, who was gone before he even knew he existed.

  His partner, Ed.

  Fellow police officers from around the city.

  Even Harry, that old sourpuss who ran the convenience store Dan and Ed frequented.

  What makes me so special, Dan thought to himself. Why have I survived when so many others haven’t?

  During the collapse of society, he had been too hopped up on caffeine and adrenaline and often fighting for his very survival most of the time to really to really think about it, but here on the base, with lonely, dark evenings and long intervals between attacks, it had really begun to sink in. He had gone to the resource centre, which had a staggering amount on information on survivor’s guilt and post-traumatic stress disorder, and talked with a ‘counsellor’, who was much younger than he was and only a couple years out of college. That had earned him an appointment with the single psychologist on the base, who was working sixteen hours a day dealing with trauma the pandemic had inflicted on the both the soldiers and the civilians huddled on the base. Dan got a prescription for some drug that made him groggy as hell and not want to get out of bed in the morning. That in turn, meant all he wanted to do was lay in his cot, at which point his mind turned the exact thing he was trying to avoid. So after a couple days of feeling like shit, Dan stopped taking the drugs and fell back on the age old solution used by soldiers for thousands of years to deal with the day-to-day horrors of their job.

  Alcohol.

  While he was technically allowed only two beers a day in the NCO mess, Private Barker ‘knew a guy who knew a guy’ who always had a couple extra bottles lying around. Dan knew better than to ask where ‘that guy’ got them and just forked over most of his pay for whatever bottle he could get. Some days it was vodka. Other times it was tequila. One day, it was a bottle of twelve year old scotch. That one had cost him a week’s pay, but really who gave a shit? What use was money in a world where you could drive somewhere and have almost anything you wanted? That’s assuming it was available at all.

  So he forked over almost everything he earned to help himself cope with the ongoing conflict in his head.

  It turned the sharp, stabbing pain in the back of his mind to a dull, throbbing ache. In this fucked up world, taking the edge off his the mind numbing pain in the back of his brain was about the best Dan could ask for.

  Chapter 4

  October 29th

  “What are the chances of getting a cup of coffee or a can of Coke? I’ve got a major fucking headache from caffeine withdrawal,” Xander said.

  “Your chance? Somewhere between slim and none and slim is outta town. Energy drinks are damned hard to come by on the base. Most of whatever does get found, winds up in officer country,” Private Davis replied.

  “How about some Tylenol or Advil then for the headache?”

  “Sorry, no can do until you’ve cleared quarantine. The powers that be don’t want to waste anything on people who might be infected. You should count your lucky stars that we’re feeding you. When they first started this, it was bread and water only with an occasional vitamin supplement, then we had some politicians come through and we had to actually serve them food.”

  “You call that shit-on-a-shingle for supper and gruel for breakfast, fucking food? Our dog used to eat better than that!” Xander said to Private Davis.

  “We serve dog on Wednesdays,” Private Davis replied.

  Xander continued, ignoring Davis’ comment, “Speaking of which, it seems like all there is to do in here is eat and fuck the dog.”

  “Well, you’re in luck then! After you’re finished your meal, fill this out,” Private Davis said, handing Xander a clipboard with a pen and a sheaf of papers on it.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “They collect a little info on everyone who comes here. Basically it tells them who did what before the world went to shit and what you would be best suited to do after you get out of here,” Private Davis replied.

  “Pardon?”

  “Everyone here works on the base. Some people cook, some clean, some help with the defences and so on. There are no slackers here,” Private Davis said.

  “That’s going to be a rude wakeup call to Donald,” Xander smiled.

  “Donald?” Private Davis asked.

  “One of the laziest assholes I’ve ever met – he came in with us and constantly has an excuse for why he can’t do his share. His back hurts, his neck is sore, he’s got asthma, you name it,” Xander said angrily.

  “Oh that guy. He’s already been bitching my ear off. The cell is too cold, it’s too humid, it’s too dusty. There’s a never-ending pile of bullshit coming out of that guy,” Private Davis replied.

  “Yep, that sure sounds like Donald,” Xander said.

  “Well, that’s his choice – we’ve got a couple of those bums here too. If he doesn’t pull his weight, he’ll learn quick enough when he only gets one quarter rations,” Private Davis replied. “We don’t put up with that kind of bullshit here at all.”

  “Wish I’d have thought of that…” Xander chuckled. “Have a good one.”

  “Let me tell you, the fact that you and couple others exercise in your cells, it gives us hope that not everyone we rescue is a waste of skin. Most of your people are pretty good too.”

  “Why? Who cares if we exercise?”

  “Officially, nobody. But it does let us know that some of you are serious about surviving this and actually chipping in, instead of just being a drain on our resources like your friend there,” Private Davis replied.

  “He isn’t my fucking friend, he’s my fucking useless brother-in-law. I only put up with his shit because my sister married the dumb fuck. Period,” Xander shot back.

  “Hey, hey no offense,” Private Davis said raising his hands in mock defence. “It’s just that most of the people we get through here are stunned when we ask them to help out and do some work to save their necks. Far too many just expect us to do all the heavy lifting and it grates on the nerves after a while.”

  “Makes sense to me,” Xander re
plied.

  “Yeah well, common sense is very fucking common these days, is it?” Davis replied.

  “It sure as hell isn’t,” Xander said.

  “I’ll be back for that later, take your time,” Private Davis replied as he started to leave.

  “Just a second,” Xander asked. “You never answered my question about the shitty food.”

  “Actually, it was a statement, not a question,” Private Davis replied.

  “Seriously smartass…”

  “Honestly, we don’t want to waste it. If you turn out to be infected, then we might as well have flushed it right down the shitter. That’s why the food in here sucks so much. Don’t worry, it’ll get better after you’re released, or at least that’s what they tell me,” Private Davis said with a wink.

  Xander looked down at the form as Private Davis walked away. It looked a lot like an application form and had lots of typical fields like name, sex, address, experience, etc. But then it delved into other areas you wouldn’t expect on an application form like fitness level, survival skills, weapons training, and so on.

  He picked up his pen and started filling it out, adding his name and address. Why the fuck is that relevant?

  When he got to sex, a corny line from the movie Austin Powers Man of Mystery suddenly popped into his head.

  “Sex? Yes please!”

  He smiled and put that down, then began describing in depth into his skills and experience.

  --------

  Manning Centre was a typical ‘power centre’, filled with the usual conglomeration of stores suburbanites had mindlessly shopped at like zombies before the world had come crashing down. Built on the northeastern edge of the city a few years back, most of it was still intact, with the lone exception of the Cabela’s store, which was a shattered, burned out ruin.

  Four Griffon helicopters thundered over the suburban landscape, passing row after row of cookie-cutter houses. Simultaneously, their engines flared and they dropped to ten metres above the ground over Manning Centre, settling into a hover. One sat above the Lowe’s Hardware, one over the Cineplex and the other two over the strip mall on the west side of the parking lot.

  Each helicopter disgorged its cargo of equipment onto the roofs, quickly followed by soldiers rappelling down ropes. They unlimbered and rushed to set up defensive positions along the edges of each building. The roar of the helicopters was beginning to attract infected, which shambled over from nearby residential developments. The soldiers began aimed fire and began to take out the infected as they approached. Initially, with the low numbers it was easy, but the roar of the helicopters attracted more and more infected, all of which wandered over looking for a snack.

  Dan Simpson sat in his G-Wagen a few hundred metres away on an overpass, watching the carnage. Stretched out on the road behind him were a dozen other vehicles, LAV IIIs mostly, but several medium trucks sat in the middle of the convoy. Twenty metres behind Dan’s G-Wagen, a Coyote had its recce mast fully extended, providing a bird’s eye view of the area surrounding the convoy.

  Troops on top of the LAV IIIs and G-Wagens were alert and ready to dispatch any infected that headed their way, but most were attracted to the strip mall and the pitched battle there.

  Dan’s brain idly recalled the operational briefing this morning.

  “Today’s objective is a smash and grab. Command has determined a number of materials vital to our ongoing efforts to deal with the pandemic,” an officer droned.

  Dan glanced down at the briefing page he had been given and noted how sparse the information on the mission was. It stated, ‘Go to Manning Centre and retrieve useful material for relief effort’, whatever the fuck that meant. The listed materials appeared unimportant and not worth the time, effort or potential casualties this mission might cause.

  “What are the casualty parameters for this op?” Someone in the back asked.

  “Minimize casualties as much as possible, but don’t let that stop us from gathering what we need.”

  “And what does ‘war material’ entail?” Someone else asked.

  “We are going to begin production of protective gear for all military and paramilitary forces on this base. That includes a variety of tools and hardware, sporting goods and other gear. While some of these materials may seem useless on the surface, command has determined that they will be vital in our role of clearing the city of infected in the near future. Our secondary objective includes checking as many of the restaurants as possible in the power centre for food, with a priority on staples such as rice, pasta and flour. Each platoon will secure a different target at the power centre and load as much material as is available. Units standing guard will engage and destroy any infected that approach our units.”

  “Securing the city from infected, I sure as fuck hope I’m not expected to do that,” someone muttered.

  “No doubt, that’s going to be a real shit show.” Another nearby soldier replied.

  A high velocity round from a sniper kneeling on one of the other LAV IIIs snapped Dan back to the present. A lone infected shambling towards them dropped to the ground, the back of its head gone.

  Dan turned back to the shopping centre as the helicopters engines roared as helicopter’s engines roared. Three of the chopper’s noses dipped and they rose into the sky, pirouetting slightly as they climbed and turned to head back to the base. The last one flew into the middle of the parking lot and lowered a small package to the ground, then its engine also roared and it too pivoted to return to the base. After the thudding noise from the helicopters tapered off, music rose from package the last chopper had dropped on the ground.

  Well, somebody is a smartass, Dan thought as Tom Petty’s Zombie Zoo drifted up to his position over the radio.

  The handful of infected stumbling around the parking lot began to gravitate towards the music and the troops on the roofs continued to cut them down. When all of the infected were down, the convoy behind Dan started up their engines, belching diesel fumes into the crisp, autumn air before they rolled down the off-ramp and towards the strip mall.

  Semi-trucks parked in front of the Lowes, the movie theatre and another in front of the stores on the far side of the parking lot, while troops poured out of the APCs. Glass shattered and troops entered stores, weapons drawn. A few muffled shots rose from the strip mall, but in moments, “All Clear” rose from all three teams over the radio net. Troops began frenzied efforts to empty the contents of the stores into the back of the semi-trucks.

  Dan’s platoon was tasked with over watch, to prevent the troops at the strip mall from being cut off. Snipers fired occasionally, but only a handful of infected emerged from the Brintnell sub-division across Manning Drive from the strip mall.

  He scanned the strip mall and focused on one of the stores. Then he walked over to where his platoon leader was standing with his command group, which was discussing the situation.

  Dan saluted, “Lieutenant, who is commanding the company down there?” asked when an opening in the conversation appeared.

  “I think it is Major Hunt,” Lieutenant Reynolds replied. “Why?”

  Dan sighed audibly.

  “Look Sergeant, I know Major Hunt isn’t very popular but he knows his job, so if you need to say something, then just say it,” the Lieutenant said.

  Isn’t popular, Dan thought. That’s an understatement. His nickname on base is Major Cunt and he certainly lives up to it.

  “Well sir, I noticed that electronics store down there and wondered if anyone was tasked with checking it out. In particular, I was thinking it might be nice to see if they have a couple of drones we could liberate. I love having the Coyote over there, but having some aerial intel would be even nicer.”

  The lieutenant scanned a list on his clipboard, then said, “It doesn’t look like it. Why don’t you take your team down there and suggest it to his Master Warrant Officer? I’d use the radio, but then he wouldn’t be able to take credit for it…”

  The lieutenan
t smiled slyly.

  “Yes Sir,” Dan grinned, then saluted and left. Guess Major Cunt isn’t any easier on his fellow officers than he is on the enlisted, he thought.

  When he got to his G-Wagen, he shouted, “Saddle up guys, we’re going down there!”

  “Seriously,” Private Hall whined, taking his feet off the dash. “It’s so nice and safe up here though.”

  “You better not let Sergeant Major Mills catch you lounging like that, or he’ll tear a fucking strip off of both of us. After which, I’ll tear you a new fucking asshole,” Dan replied.

  “Yeah, sure you would. You’re nothing but a big old teddy bear Sergeant,” Private Barker shot back as he watched the battle below on the video screen that controlled the Nanuk turret on top of the G-Wagen.

  “Whatever…get your lazy asses in gear already,” Dan growled in his best estimation of a commander’s tone.

  Private Barker started up the vehicle and drove it down into the melee. Hall fired a couple of times as they approached the strip mall, but it was nothing serious. They quickly headed to the north end of the lot where the command team was situated and stopped.

  “Keep an eye open you two – the last thing you want is Master Warrant Bell getting on your ass,” Dan said as he left.

  Master Warrant Officer Bell was the senior non-com on this op and had a fierce reputation regarding discipline. While he wasn’t a total dick like Major Hunt, the prevailing opinion on the base was that Master Warrant Bell and Major Hunt were suited for each other. Both privates nodded and did their best to look extra vigilant.

  “Excuse me Corporal, where is Master Warrant Bell?” Dan asked one of the sentries.