Zombie Killers: Ice & Fire

by John Holmes

  “Pretty much. People are stupid. They panic, they die. I didn’t panic. I was studying to be a physicist, for Christ sake.” She started laughing, and I waited for her to stop. She didn’t stop, and her laughter changed to hysterics. I waited till she was out of breath. Then she started crying.

  I watched her for a few minutes, till she stopped. “You OK?”

  “NO I AM NOT FUCKING OK? WHAT ARE YOU STUPID?” She threw her bowl at me and kept crying.

  I still waited. I had seen it before. We were all, collectively, suffering from some kind of psychosis. Maybe some people back in Seattle, who had been spared the outbreak, might be considered “normal”, but anyone who had gone through it wore the scars, outside and in.

  Eventually, she stopped.

  “Are you going to play amateur pshrink on me? Tell me I’m crazy?”

  “You are crazy. I’m crazy. Anyone who survived is crazy. The things we had to do to survive. I had to beat my wife’s brains in after she turned Zombie and ate our baby daughter.” I saw it in my minds’ eye, all over again. Like I did every day.

  “Damn. That’s cold.”

  “Yeah. Like I said, we all have issues. Nice place you have here. How do you survive?”

  She seemed grateful for the change of subject. “I survive by being smart. I have cables rigged so I can get out of any side of the building I need to. I can get in here from three different buildings.”

  “How do you avoid the Z’s?”

  “I studied them. Ain’t that right, Professor?” She shone a flashlight into an alcove behind her, and I jumped up, reaching for my pistol.

  “Holy Crap!”

  She burst out laughing. Stuck on the end of a broomhandle was the head of zombie, and its jaws had started snapping when she shone the light on it.

  “My old biology professor. Thought he knew everything. Hahah.”

  “You, you studied them?”

  “Sure! I’m a scientist, right? Or I was going to be one. Not that I care anymore, but it IS interesting. For example, did you know that they don’t like rain?”

  “Nope. Didn’t know that.”

  “Big badass Zombie Killer you are, GI Joe. Yeah, when it downpours, I can move freely around the buildings. I built a sled to carry supplies up here.”

  “Why the library?”

  “Um, to have something to read? Duh? Once the campus was empty, before the power failed, I used a pneumatic jackhammer to demo the stairs. Started a fire to set off a propane can down the valley to draw the Zombies off, did the stairs in about a half hour. They’re attracted to sound, because their corneas scratch up quickly without tears to lubricate. Like I said, you gotta be smart to fight undead.”

  I nodded, still watching the head snap uselessly. She motioned to it. “I used to have his whole torso, but his lungs allowed him to do that stupid annoying howl thing they do, and it kept calling more of them.”

  “So now what? Do you want to come back with us?”

  “Of course, you idiot. First things first, though. Let me see your pistol.”

  I handed it to her, and raised my eyebrow as she expertly racked the slide, ejecting the round and seating another. “Grew up on a farm” was all she said. I followed her as she went downstairs to the second floor and leaned out a shattered window. Below the zombies shuffled around, still trying to get at us.

  “Shit, we’re going to be stuck here another three days.”

  “Well, soldier boy, at least you know something about fighting Z’s. Don’t worry, though, we can slide outta her to the next building and leave anytime we want.”

  She leaned out and started taking measured shot, one ever few seconds. She started laughing manically as zombies started falling, each shot drilling down through their heads. “TAKE THAT, YOU PIECES OF CRAP! HAHAHAHA! PAYBACK IS A BI-OTCH!”

  I reached over to my harness and clicked on my Motorola radio.

  “Doc, this is Nick, over.”

  He came on almost immediately. “Hey Nick, glad to see you’re still alive.”

  “I’m doing OK, holed up at the library.”

  “Yeah, we’re up at the old arts building. We can be down by you in fifteen mikes. What the hell is that noise, over?”

  He had heard Brits’ laughter when I keyed the mike. “Long story, but we’ll come to you, over.”

  “We? You found survivors? How many, over?”

  “One, and it’s a long story. I can get the Bible pages we were looking for, then meet up with you. Give me” and I let off the key, looking at Brit as she gleefully fired down into the horde. “Give me two hours.”

  Chapter 6

  We went back to the fifth floor, after Brit packed the things that she wanted to bring with her. I told her not to bring more than twenty pounds of gear with her, because we might be running fast. She shot me a dirty look and said “Listen GI Joe, if you want to be a condescending ass all your life, just remember that I’ve lived on my own for quite a while, and I don’t need you. Got it?” She turned her back to me and started shoving her gortex sleeping bag into a frame pack.

  Women. I sat down and cleaned my rifle while she packed, running a quick brush down the barrel then swabbing out the chamber. This was going to be tricky. From what I had seen of her, this girl could handle herself, but she had never operated according to Army SOP. Then again, Army SOP versus real world experience; I would take the experience every time. Then again, she seemed batshit crazy at times.

  I sighed. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

  She turned back to me, shouldering her pack and slinging her shotgun, putting her hair up in a ponytail and tucking it up under a knit hat. I used my rifle as leverage to lift up off the floor, and followed her up the stairs, heading to the fifth floor. As we walked, she peppered me with questions.

  “So, what is this Irregular Scout thingee? Are you like, superduper zombie special forces hit team or something?”

  “Not really. We’re a mixed bunch. Doc and I are military, Jonesy and Ahmed are civilians who volunteered to join the team.”

  “So what do you do? Just like, run around and be badass or something?” She stopped on the stairway and turned around to face me, a look of glee on her face.

  “Wait, you said civilian volunteers. YES! I’M IN!”

  “No, hold on a minute! It doesn’t work like that.”

  “What do I have to do, sleep with you or something? Cause it ain’t gonna happen.”

  “No, you don’t have to sleep with me. You have to sleep with the whole team.”

  “OK, that I can do. JUST KIDDING.” She said that after seeing the look of surprise on my face. “Oh my god, you’re so fraking gullible. Duh. But tough shit, I’m on your team.” She turned back around continued to march up the stairs. I shook my head and followed her.

  At the top floor, several windows were smashed open, and ropes ran out of them to adjoining buildings, entering into other broken windows.

  “Impressive.”

  “Ha, took me a week to set this up. This way, I can just slide out of the building and into another one. I’m never stuck in one building. Eastern Mountain Sports, good climbing ropes. Carabineers too.”

  “You know, you might just work out OK.” I grabbed one of the D – rings and snapped my harness into it, then launched myself out into space. As I went, Brit slapped my ass, and I almost let myself go into an uncontrolled slide. I managed to catch myself and slowly went down, hand over had, knocking ice and snow off the rope.

  We made our way slowly down through the next building and exited out the other side, heading back up the hill towards the looming Performing Arts building. As we reached the top of the stairs, my radio crackled into life again.

  “Nick, this is Doc, we have a bird inbound in 2 mikes, LZ is the parking lot. No sign of Z,s but be ready for a hot extract.”

  I waved at the figure standing in the doorway of the building, and I saw Jonesy wave back. As I jogged up to him, he let out a low whistle.

  “Damn
, Nick, only you can find a hot piece of ass in the middle of a gunfight!”

  I made a waving motion with my hands, then drew my finger across my neck. Brit came storming past me. “Piece of ass? PIECE OF ASS? I’ll show you a piece of ass!” and with that she slammed the buttstock of her shotgun into his stomach. Jonesy folded over with a “whoof” of air escaping his lungs and fell to the ground, gasping. Through labored breathing, he whispered something. I bent down to listen to him.

  “I like her, Nick. Can we keep her?”

  Chapter 7

  “Again.”

  Brit rolled her eyes at me. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. I want twenty rounds in the black” meaning the black circle on the top of the target, representing a zombie’s head. “You can take your time with this one. You have twenty seconds.” We were back at Seneca Army Depot, and I was trying to teach Brit how to be part of a team, and get her used to our weapons.

  “YES DRILL SERGEANT!” she sarcastically yelled at me, and took a knee, aiming downrange. The target popped up fifty meters away, and started rolling down the track towards her. She started snapping rounds at it. More than half missed, striking the body of the target, or missing all together. The bolt of her rifle locked back on an empty magazine, but the target kept coming at her.

  “You’re dead. You have to score at least fifteen hits to make it stop before ten meters. Way to go.”

  She threw the rifle on the ground and started to stomp off the range.

  “Hey! Get your ass back here!” She turned around and gave me the finger, then kept walking.

  I bent over and picked up her rifle, dropping the magazine and letting the bolt ride forward, “Jonesy, go get her, bring her back.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” He jogged after her, grabbed her around the waist, and threw her over his shoulder. She cursed him all the way back, and he threw her down in a snowbank. She got up cursing, brushing snow off her new uniform. I waited for her to stop, then threw her rifle at her. She caught it just before it hit her face.

  “This rifle is your life. Next time you lose control of it in a hissy fit, you’re off the team. It stays with you at all times. Got it?” She said nothing, merely glowered at me.

  “OK, do it again. Thirty rounds. Twenty seconds. Twenty hits.”

  The snow has started blowing again, cutting visibility down. She kneeled down as Doc and Ahmed rolled the target back down the track and reset the motor. When they got back, Jonesy raised the red flag and called Range Control, telling them we were going hot again. Doc stayed with her, coaching. Ahmed stepped back with me.

  “Ahmed, do you think I’m being too hard on her?”

  He stroked his short beard and pondered for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. She has never worked with a team, and has always been able to run before. She needs to learn how to stand in the face of a horde, and count on her teammates.”

  “Agreed. It’s just that, well, you led your tribe back in Afghanistan, and Jonesy ran with a gang when he was younger, so you both understand teamwork. She’s just some college kid who managed to survive by playing lone wolf. Even the new guys we’re getting have been through Basic Training.”

  “I think she’ll do, as you Americans say, OK. She is smart, and full of fire.”

  “Yeah, well, speaking of noobs.”

  Walking down the road were three soldiers in ACU’s and winter gear, carrying their rifles at port arms. The stopped in front of us, and stood at attention. Their leader, a Corporal, ordered them to stand at ease.

  “Corporal Williams, PFC Hernandez, designated marksman, and Private Collaton. You’re Sergeant First Class Agostine? We were told that we were being assigned to your Scout Team for the recon past Utica.”

  “Yep, let me introduce you to the rest of the team. This is our sniper, and third in command, Ahmed Yasir.”

  A look of disgust passed over Williams’ face as he glanced down at Ahmed’s offered hand. “A raghead?”

  I looked at him for a minute, not saying anything. Nine - Tenths of the world were dead or Undead, and this asswipe was being racist.

  “Corporal, take your ass back down that road and tell whoever sent you that I found you not suitable for service. I’ll be making a written report, too. PFC Hernandez, Private Collaton, stay here. Unless you two have a problem also?”

  Williams looked furious. Ahmed stared at him coolly. The two Privates shook their heads no, and stepped back from their team leader.

  “Why are you still here?”

  A blood vessel throbbed in Williams forehead. “You have got to be shitting me. I’m a Regular Amy NCO, two tours in Afghanistan. One of these bastards shot my buddy back at Kandahar, dressed up like an Afghan National Army soldier. I smoked his ass, and if you think for one second I’m going to take orders from some civilian sand nig” His words were cut off as the stock of a rifle hit him across the back of his head, and he fell face forward in the snow. Jonesy stood behind him.

  “I can say that word, but you can’t say that word, stupid cracker. Geez Nick, I hope I didn’t hit him too hard.”

  “He’ll live, but he isn’t going with us. Two tours and still a Corporal, even after the Zombie Apocalypse, when anyone with any experience was getting promoted left and right? No, he’s a shitbag, and we don’t need his attitude. I really would hate to see him disappear in the middle of the night after saying one thing too many to Ahmed.”

  Ahmed looked down at the Corporal, who was sitting up and rubbing his neck. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Nick.”

  Chapter 8

  The rest of the team went back to the old ammunition bunker that served as our temporary home, and Doc and I headed to the Task Force Ops Center. As we drove, we passed hundreds of soldiers working on Armored Personnel Carriers, Tanks, Helicopters and even aircraft.

  Seneca Army Depot, located in between two of the New York Finger Lakes, had served as a fortress during the desperate days of the Zombie Apocalypse. The Engineer Brigade of the New York Army National Guard had fallen back from Buffalo and thrown up a fifteen foot high earthen wall, faced by a ten foot ditch, from one lake to another, then done the same on the south end. Troops from all over the Northeast had fallen back there, either on foot in running battles with the hordes, or in armored vehicles, escorting frightened civilians. Then the Air Force had laid a non-stop carpet of bombs on anything that moved outside the safety of the base. It had been a desperate fight, especially when a horde of Undead from Rochester had almost breached the wall. I hadn’t been there, but Doc had, brought up from the evacuation of Manhattan on one of the last C-130’s out of Stewart Air National Guard base.

  Doc and I had known each other in Afghanistan, and we crossed paths a few months back after I had arrived at Seneca. I had been surviving on my own, living on a small island in the Hudson River, when I rescued an F-16 pilot that had bailed out do to an engine flameout. The Search and Rescue (SAR) team had brought me back with him. When I ran into Doc Hamilton at the clinic, the big, bald headed ex-biker had been all fired up to help with my idea for the Irregular Scout Teams.

  Now we were running our team as one of the scouting elements for Task Force Liberty. The mission of the Task Force was to open up communications and land transport between Buffalo and New York City. The main combat elements were organized around the remnants of various National Guard and Army Reserve units that had made it to Seneca. When we had picked up Brit, IST-1 was just finishing up a scout of the Syracuse area, looking for concentrations of Zombies and checking out the highways, rail lines, and canals. A harsh winter in upstate New York can cause enough structural damage to prevent a sixty ton tank from crossing a highway. We were on our way to the TOC to get our next mission briefing. That, and I wanted some hot coffee.

  I almost spilled that coffee on myself when some flunky screamed “ATTENTION IN THE TOC!” at the top of his lungs. The door opened and the second coming of General MacArthur strode into the room, also known as Lieutenant Colonel MacDon
ald. He was the Operational Commander of the forward elements of the Task Force, and a moron. My personal name for him was “jackass”. I sat in my chair as everyone else jumped up and stood at attention.

  He walked over to me and glared down at me. “I see you’re back from joyriding, and already causing problems. You will take the people my S-1 assigns to you. Do you understand me?” He was referring, I guessed, to the racist punk I had met out at the range. Probably his nephew or something.

  “Actually, I don’t work for you, I work for Joint Special Operations Command. Here’s my phone, the JSOC Ops Center is on speed dial.” I held out my cell phone to him. He glared at me, the spun around and took a seat right in the middle of the briefing room. Doc laughed, because the projector for the Power Point Briefing was shining on his back. His aide leaned over and whispered something to him, and the Colonel scooted over.

  The S-3, or Operations Officer, Major Flynn, stood to give the briefing. The Task Force was going to continue to clear the New York State Thruway. I snored through it until we came to our part of the plan.

  “IST One will be inserting by helo just outside the town of Illion. Your mission will be to scout the Remington Arms factory, check undead concentration, and see if the roof is structurally sound enough to bring in heavy lift and get all the machinery out that way. Once you radio back that information, a clear and hold team will be dropped in to make the building secure while the engineers move the machinery out. ”

  I liked it. Simple in and out, small town, so not that many undead. At least we wouldn’t be walking in. I hated ruck marching in the winter. It used a ton of energy, you alternately sweated and froze, and you never knew when a Z was going to be hiding in the snow.

  “After that, you will be dropped at Little Falls to check out the canal locks, and then a continuous patrol through the Mohawk Valley, looking for surviving civilians.”

  “Continuous? What does that mean?” I had a bad feeling about this.

  Flynn looked at LTC MacDonald, who was smirking. “It means you will be out there until you’re retasked. Resupply will be when we can get it to you.”