by John Holmes
“Hey. About last night…”
Between mouthfuls of pasta she said “Shut your piehole. No idea what you’re talking about.”
OK, that’s how she wanted to play it. Women.
Around us, the camp was coming to life. People were moving about, heading for the mess tents at the end of each street. A two truck patrol, same guys as yesterday, passed us. The gunner in the front truck, crouching behind an M-249 SAW spun the turret to track us as they passed. People looked away as the trucks passed, but we didn’t, and that marked us. A difference in the pattern. A good combat veteran, a survivor, identified a break in the pattern. Stayed alive.
We did a quick weapons and ammo check, ran through the plan, then moved out through the muddy streets. We made our way through the tents to the area Flagg had told us about, drifting against the crowd in twos and threes. As we moved, I started kicking myself. I was walking with Doc next to me. Brit, Ziv and Espo were moving parallel to us the next row over. Ahmed and Red had left earlier.
I was beating myself up for bringing the whole team in at the same time. We should have infiltrated in over a day or two, kept some of the team incognito. Ace in the hole. Now, we had no backup. Dumbass amateur mistake. Sure, the Rangers were on call, but fifteen minutes could be a lifetime in combat. Screw it, we would just have to take what came.
On the southwest corner stood a gate, used for bringing in supplies. Kellogg, Brown and Root, also known as KBR, my old buddies from Iraq, ran the mess halls and cleaned the shitters out. They were bringing the pre-cooked meals in to the camp in 5 Ton trucks. The contractors would set the food out on long tables each meal time, twice a day, with MRE’s for lunch. The truckers themselves were hired from even more wretched refugee camps, out on the Alaskan islands, where boat people from fallen countries had been settled by Coast Guard patrols.
I stood and watched for a minute or two, scoping out the area. Flagg stood by the gate, with his bodyguard next to him, the big guy named Taylor. He wore a long black coat, and I was sure that underneath he still wore his armor and had his sword. As I watched, Brit came up next to us.
“Is that the Viking dude? What’s with the armor? And a freaking sword?”
“There’s going to be a riot today. Ever been in one?”
“No.”
Doc whistled. “Well, aren’t you in for a treat. The reason old Tayler is wearing armor is to keep from being trampled in the dust, or getting a knife stuck in him. The sword is for killing people in close quarters.”
“How do you know there’s going to be a riot?”
“Just watch.”
Flagg strolled over to us, and Taylor moved off into the camp.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Miss O’Neil. I’m a big fan of yours.” He nodded to us and then leered at Brit.
She stuck her finger in her mouth and made a gagging motion “Creeper. Ugh.”
A look of anger flashed across Flagg’s face, and for a moment, I saw something dark and evil blazing out of his eyes.
I stepped in front of her. “OK, Flagg. We’re here. What do you need us to do?”
The look faded from his face, and he calmed down. “In a few minutes, there will be a distraction. I need your team” and here he glanced around. “Where is the rest of your crew?”
“Here and there.”
“I see. Well, I need your team to make sure one of these trucks gets to the middle of the camp. After that, you are free to go. The gold is in my tent.”
“OK. Sounds like a plan. How will we know which truck?”
“You’ll know. Ohh, this is going to be GREAT! Goodbye, America! As for you, Ms., O’Neil, just be glad I’m busy right now. I doubt you would be immune to my charms.” He walked away, around the corner of a tent.
Doc spoke up. “Can I kill him? Pretty please? Twist his head off?”
“You can’t kill him.” The gravelly voice behind us surprised us all. I turned to see a man in a long, black duster rolling a cigarette. The hand that he used to roll the cigarette, his right, was missing the two smaller fingers, but he still managed the paper easily. As he put his tobacco back in his pocket, I could see the butt of a big, ivory handled revolver in his waistband.
“And why not?”
“Because, gunslinger. I’m not sure he can be killed. I have been chasing him for a very, very long time. Each time I get close, he slips away. Maybe this time.”
I watched his face intently. It was lined, scared, but his blue eyes were steady. I nodded to him.
“Are you a cop?”
“In a fashion. I guess you could say that I work for the Law. I can see that you do too. Don’t worry, I won’t blow your cover.”
“We’re here to shut this down. Arrest Flagg, or kill him. We could team up.”
A pained look went across his face. “No, you don’t want to do that. Everyone who helps me, dies in the end. No, you do what you came to do. Stop whatever he’s planning. I’ll take care of him, gunslinger.”
With that, he turned and walked away in the direction that Flagg had gone.
“Should we follow him? This place is getting more and more full of weirdo’s” asked Doc.
“No. Like he said, we have our own work to do. One of those trucks will be carrying Zombies on it. Maybe more than one, if Flagg is smart.”
At that moment, all hell broke loose.
Chapter 11
A burning object flew in a high arc and shattered on the cab of the second truck through the gate. Flames splashed over the truck, and the canvas over the bed quickly caught fire. The crowd around the closest mess tent turning into a milling, shoving mass, trying to get away from the burning truck, which had rolled towards them as the driver jumped out of the cab.
The first truck pulled over to the side, and started to head towards us, then turned into an alley between the tents and stopped, mostly out of site. I saw Red and Ahmed across the open space, and pointed two fingers at my eyes, then at the truck. Ahmed nodded and grabbed Red’s arm, and they moved out.
Burning fiercely, the first truck crashed into the mess tent, and that quickly caught fire. This was a hell of a distraction, and people were streaming in from all around to watch. The two HUMVEEs from the morning patrol pulled up, trying to insert themselves between the crowd and the burning truck. From the lead truck, an amplified voice ordered the crowd to disperse.
“RETURN TO YOUR TENTS!” boomed out from the speakers mounted on the roof. The crowd ignored the orders, getting pressed in from behind. That’s where the trouble makers would be, out of danger and egging the crowd on. Sure enough, rocks started bouncing off the trucks.
The Area Denial System mounted on the second truck spun in a slow arc, and the crowd started to move back away, people in the front starting to shout and scream. Even from a hundred meters away, I felt my skin start to burn as it moved past me. The ADS was pumping out microwaves, putting a punishing radiating heat into people’s bodies. I had been on the wrong end of one of these before, and I knew that those closest to the system would be feeling sick and wanting to get out of the way as fast as they could.
Another burning arc through the sky, and a Molotov Cocktail, a bottle filled with gasoline and a burning wick, shattered on the HUMVEE. The soldier in the turret dropped down inside the truck, and …
“OH SHIT!” Doc and I both said at the same time. We each grabbed one of Brit’s arms and pulled her flat on the ground, just as the gunner in the first truck opened up with his mounted M-249. Tracer rounds flew overhead, then answering shots, flat pistol cracks. The crowd started running towards us, and the machine gunner dropped his elevation and fired directly into them. People stepped onto us, and Doc and I shoved them off our backs.
Doc leaned over and yelled in my ear “We gotta get the hell out of here!” I nodded my head, then grunted as a body fell on top of me. I pushed the woman off, then stuck my fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. They came back bloody, my fingers finding a throat torn out by a bullet.
The firing stopped, and there was a momentary break in the crowd. We both jumped up and half carried, half dragged a protesting Brit towards where the second cargo truck was hidden, knocking people down when they got in our way, stepping over fallen people and bodies. The square was a screaming, pushing mob, fighting each other to get away from the gunfire. We scrambled around the back of the truck, and ran smack into Red and Ahmed, weapons drawn. Ziv and Espo stood at the front of the truck, and Flagg was between them, a look of mad glee on his face. Next to him stood Taylor, hulking in his coat over his armor.
“This is GREAT!” Flagg shouted. He walked over to me and clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t you think? Madness and chaos is the natural order of things.” His dark face was flushed, a mad gleam in his eye.
“Yeah, great” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice. If he heard it, he ignored it.
“OK, on to business. This truck” and he slapped the side “needs to get to the center of camp. Once there, the driver will take care of things. I need you to make sure it gets there. The patrols are distracted, but there will be people who get in the way.”
“Where are the people who supplied the zombies? How many are there?”
“Oh, there was only one. By now, I expect, there are three or so. I locked up the terrorists in there with them this morning. After all, it’s every Americans’ patriotic duty to fight the war on terror, isn’t it?” and he laughed that maniacal cackle. He made my skin crawl.
“So that’s it, then? All the terrorists are locked up in there?”
“Yes, why?”
“Randall Flag, under the authority of the Federal Emergency Powers Act of 2014, you’re under” and my words were cut short by Taylor whipping his sword out and swinging it at my head.
“Son of a BITCH!” I fell backwards and twisted to one side. As his sword whistled over my head, I felt something go POP and a wrenching pain shot through my lower back. He swung again, downward, and I tried to roll to one side, but couldn’t move.
Ziv hit him broadside in a football tackle. They both crashed down in the dirt and started rolling around. From my position in the ground, I could see Ziv’s knife skidding across Taylors’ armor. I tried to stand, but I couldn’t raise myself any higher than one knee. “Doc! My fucking back! I can’t move!”
I heard Brit yelling “I can’t get a shot! I can’t shoot!” and saw her aiming her pistol at Ziv and Taylor. Doc grabbed me by the shoulders, wrapped me in a bear hug, and lifted. My back went POP again and I could move. He set me down on my feet, and I looked around for Flagg. Espo, Red and Ahmed had moved around to the back of the truck, and were working the pins.
I heard a loud CLANG and the tailgate of the truck fell open. Two dozen undead started piling out, scrambling down, screaming their zombie howl. They streamed past the guys, heading straight for the melee in the square. Taylor and Ziv had gotten to their feet, and were facing each other. Ziv held up one hand to Brit, waving her off, ignoring the Z’s. Brit was ignoring him in turn, firing as fast as she could into the crowd of zombies. I drew my own pistol and started firing as fast as I could, but several of the Z’s ran around the corner and disappeared, chasing the crowd of rioters.
“GET FLAGG!” I yelled at Espo, and they took off after him.
“Would you just cut that shit out!” I strode over to Ziv and Taylor, who were trading knife and sword strokes, faster than I could see. Doc fired at the last Zombie coming at us, and it fell at our feet. I walked over to Taylor as shots and screams broke out in the camp, mixed in with the howling of the Undead. He stood with an uncertain look on his face, but not taking his eyes off of Ziv.
Red and Ahmed, followed by Espo, reappeared around the far corner. “We lost him, boss!” said Espo.
“Forget it, this place is blown. Taylor, get the hell out if you can. You were just doing your job.” He nodded to Ziv, lifted his sword to his face, and saluted us all, then walked off, sword still drawn.
I grabbed the radio handset out of Red’s backpack, and the guys formed a defensive circle around me.
“Iron Mike, this is Lost Boys, SHOPPING BAG, I say again, SHOPPING BAG, Camp Bravo Two Zero, over.”
It took a second, but then the voice came back, loud and strong.
“LOST BOYS, THIS IS IRON MIKE. CONFIRM SHOPPING BAG BRAVO TWO ZERO.”
“I say again, I confirm, SHOPPING BAG.”
“ROGER, EXTRACT FIVE, I SAY AGAIN, FIVE MINUTES.”
“Five minutes, Lost Boys out!”
I stuffed the handmike back in Red’s pack, and took my place in the circle. Doc crouched next to me.
“Shopping Bag? Who the hell comes up with these code words?”
“Some dipshit staff officer in the New Pentagon. Thinks that if anyone overhears it, it won’t start a panic.”
Doc nodded. “Are they going to pull us out?”
I thought about it. “Fifty Fifty. They might scrag the whole camp just for shits and giggles. If you’ll excuse me.”
I got up and moved next to Brit. “Hey Brit. We might bite the big one on this. I just want you to know…”
“I know, Nick. Even if it all ends right now, I know.”
Around us, the howls, gunshots and screams grew louder, and fires leapt up, smoke blotting out the morning sun.
Chapter 12
Out of the dust and smoke stepped the guy in the black duster, pistol hanging low down at his side. He walked slowly up to us, eyes scanning around the area. He walked up to me, nodded to Doc, and stuck his gun back in his belt.
“Gunslinger, have you seen Flagg?”
“No, we lost him in the confusion. Just want to warn you, in a few minutes, this place is going to be turned in to a cinder. Helo takes eight, there’s only seven of us.”
He seemed to think about it for a few seconds. A look of longing showed on his face, but he shook his head.
“I have to follow Flagg where ever he goes.”
“In a few minutes, he’ll be toast. He isn’t going anywhere.”
“Regardless, I have my duty, just as you have yours. Maybe we’ll ride together in another life. Good luck, gunslinger.” He held out his mutilated hand, and I shook it.
“Nick. Nick Agostine.”
“Roland. Roland Deschaine.” With, he strode off into the camp.
Brit looked at him go. “Frigging wackos. Both of them.”
Red handed me the handset to the radio. In the distance, I we watched the surviving HUMVEE from the patrol charge across the square, mowing running people down and bumping over bodies. They knew what was going to happen, and were trying to get out. It seemed like they would, but a steel barrier shot out of the ground, closing the gate. They hit it at about forty miles per hour and stopped dead. A horde of Z’s came howling after them. The gunner let loose a wild burst from his machine gun, blowing bloody holes in bodies, but they still came on. The gun jammed and he pulled out his pistol, firing until the slide locked back. He might as well have been spitting into a wave. They swarmed him and tore him apart. None of us moved; our survival now depended on staying out of the way.
“LOST BOYS, THIS IS WARBIRD, FIVE MINUTES OUT.”
“Roger, Warbird, be advised, LZ may be hot.”
“UNDERSTOOD, LOST BOYS. MACGUIRE RIG EXTRACTION. MARK SMOKE, OVER.”
Ziv pulled the pin in a red smoke grenade, flipped off the spoon, and tossed it between us and the horde. It started billowing out, blocking the massacre in the square from view. An MH-60 Special Operations helo popped over the fence, the rotor wash sucking up the smoke into a giant swirl, and held at a hover thirty feet up. Two ropes bundles fell out, one from each side. Machine gun fire started raking the crowds on the other side of the smoke. The pilot wasn’t going to risk his multimillion dollar, rare post apocalypse aircraft by setting it down into chaos.
“HOOK UP!” yelled Doc. One each rope were four slings that clipped around a person’s chest. I slung mine under my arms and turned to check Red’s sling, making sure it was tight. He che
cked Ziv’s, and Ziv checked mine. On the other sling, the rest of the team did the same. The crew chief leaned out, saw that we were ready to go, and the rope tightened and heaved us up in the air.
Below us the camp was a madhouse. Tents were burning, and people ran in every direction, being chased by undead. Gunshots echoed, and a mob was pressing at the front gate. Steel barriers had blocked their exit, and they were trying to knock down a section of fence. As we rose, I closed my eyes. Thousands of men, women and children. All dead because of me.
We spun in our harnesses as the chopper turned east, dipped its nose, and poured on the power.
Chapter 13
As we flew, twisting in the wind, I could faintly hear Brit screaming and yelling over the thud of the rotor blades. I craned my neck to try and see what was wrong, but the wind tore at my vision and I could only get occasional glimpses of her. Nothing I could do about it till we hit the ground.
We flew steady on for ten minutes, then swung around a road cut. The pilot set the ropes down on the ground, and we unsnapped as he landed and powered down. The crew ran past us, pointing to a ditch on the side of the road, with the side of the hill between us and the camp, twenty kilometers away. I put my hands over my ears, opened my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut.
The flash, twenty clicks away, burned through my eyelids like a giant flashbulb, even though the hill was in the way. When the first shockwave hit, it came through the ground. We were bounced two feet off the ground. Then the blast wave came thundering over the hill, first rushing past us as a hot wind, then come back the other way as the mushroom cloud sucked in air to feed itself.
The camps were built on ten feet of concrete to prevent fallout, and the nukes were set for a low airbusts to maximize the heat scorching everything. The only way to be sure was to kill it with fire. The camps themselves were downwind and miles from any kind of civilization. Any Z’s that escaped and made their way into the country side would be hunted down by air patrols with radiation detectors. They would be glowing white hot on any scanner.
