by Glyn Gardner
Verge of Extinction
Book 3 of the Apex Predator Series
By Glyn Gardner
Copyright 2015
Glossary of Terms
A-Team: The operational element of a Special Forces company. There are usually 6 per company. They usually consist of 12 men, each of whom has a specific function on the team. However, all members of an A Team conduct cross-training.
ACOG sight: Advanced Combat Optical Gun sights. Originally designed and manufactured by Trijicon, the ACOG has a fixed level of magnification 1.5 to 6 X and is designed to be optimal for Close Quarters Battle as well as normal combat range engagements.
Assault Amphibious Vehicle (AAV): Amphibious troop transport of the United States Marine Corps. Used by U.S. Marine Corps Assault Amphibian Battalions to land the surface assault elements and their equipment in a single lift during amphibious operations to inland objectives and to conduct mechanized operations inland.
Bag-Valve Mask: A hand-held device commonly used to provide positive pressure ventilation to patients who are not breathing or not breathing adequately.
B-Team: The headquarters element of a Special Forces company and it is usually composed of 11–13 soldiers. While the A-team typically conducts direct operations, the purpose of the B-Team is to support the company's A-Teams both in garrison and in the field.
Catheter: A long slender flexible tube for inserting into a natural bodily cavity or passage for introducing or withdrawing fluid, such as urine or blood.
Chief Petty Officer: An E-7 in the U.S. Navy or Coast Guard. Equal in rank to a Sergeant First Class (Army), Master Sergeant (Air Force), or Gunnery Sergeant (Marines)
Grain: An old English unit of weight. In this case it is commonly used to measure the weight of a bullet. 15.43 grains = 1 gram. A 165 grain bullet weighs roughly 10 grams or roughly 1/3 of an ounce.
HEMTT: Pronounced Hem it. Heavy Expanded Mobility Tactical Truck. Is a ten ton, eight wheeled transportation vehicle used by the US Army. One variant is specifically designed to load and unload the Palletized Load System.
M240B: US military standard 7.62 mm General Purpose Machine Gun. It is fed from a disintegrating belt and is gas operated. It replaced the venerable M60 of Vietnam fame.
M9 ACE: A highly mobile armored tracked vehicle that provides combat engineer support to front-line forces. It has both dozer and scraper blades, as well as 6.7 m3 bowl. Its tasks include eliminating enemy obstacles, maintenance and repair of roads and supply routes, and construction of fighting positions.
MEDCAP: Medical Civil Action Program. Medical doctors and specialists with equipment and supplies set up a temporary field clinic to provide limited medical treatment to the local population.
NCO: Noncommissioned officer. Sergeants and Corporals in the Army and Marines, Sergeants in the Air Force, Chiefs and Petty Officers in the Navy and Coast Guard
Pressors: Medications that cause the blood vessels to constrict, thereby raising blood pressure.
Pvt: Private. The lowest rank in the Army or Marines.
Q Course: US Army Special Forces Qualification Course. The course lasts from 56-95 weeks. Once a soldier graduates, he is authorized to wear the Special Forces tab on his uniform for the rest of his career, and the Green Beret when he is assigned to an operational S.F. unit.
SFC: Sergeant First Class. E-7 in the Army. The same as a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines and below a Master Sergeant.
Sgt: Sergeant. E-5. Above Corporal and below a Staff Sergeant.
SSgt: Staff Sergeant. E-6, above a Sergeant and below a Sergeant First Class or Gunnery Sergeant
Introduction
32 days ago, the world ended and the dead began to walk the Earth. Staff Sergeant Brown and Private Jackson are the sole survivors of the Louisiana National Guard’s early attempt to stop the zombie apocalypse. They soon find others lucky enough to survive the rampage of the walking dead.
ER nurse Jen and her security guard husband Mike, along with their teenaged neighbor Theresa, are forced from their home in northwest Louisiana. After watching helplessly as her family was devoured one-by-one by the growing hoard, Theresa has transformed from meek and quiet teenager to cold blooded zombie killer.
The little group grows as they cross paths with other survivors desperate to escape. Kerry was a store clerk who suffered abuse after abuse at the hands of the Adams brothers. Sergeant Ed Procell is the sole survivor of an engineer platoon from the 101st Airborne Division. He had been instrumental in rescuing young medical student, Indira, who had been kidnapped by a vicious drug dealer and human trafficker known only as Thor.
After escaping the land claimed by Thor and his hired guns, they literally slam into another group of survivors. Leader, and Fire Captain, Sam Reynolds’ daughter is killed in the accident. Ms. Hebert, a lawyer before the fall, accuses SSgt Brown and Sgt Procell of man slaughter.
Theresa, fearing for the safety of her new family, takes a young girl hostage. She is banished by the firemen. Acting on a note dropped from a passing helicopter, SSgt Brown and Captain Reynolds agree to send a mixed expedition across the state in an attempt to find a safety. Sgt Procell is injured within sight of the Mississippi River. He is barricaded in an upstairs bedroom.
Prologue
SFC Terrance Riddick felt the pilot bank the CH-47 hard to the left. Had they not been prepared, he and his team would have been thrown to the deck. But, they had performed several of these missions and were well prepared for such violent maneuvers. He glanced back at the 10 men of his SAR team.
Each man had his own pre-mission ritual. Sgt Rodriguez was an Army Ranger stationed at Ft. Benning prior to the fall. He was a cool customer, especially when he was aboard an aircraft. He was leaned back against the side of the craft with his eyes closed and his rifle pointed at the deck.
PFC Watson was the complete opposite. He had been a recent Infantry AIT graduate at home on leave at the fall. He had not seen combat before the dead began to rise. He had always been nervous prior to a mission; tapping his feet, telling the same joke over and over, checking and rechecking his weapon. The kid just wouldn’t sit still. But, he always settled down once they were on the ground. If he didn’t, SFC Riddick wouldn’t have him on his team.
SFC Riddick quickly assessed each member of his team. Although each man’s pre-combat ritual was different, it almost never changed. A change in the pre-combat ritual could tell the NCO that he may need to watch one of his people a little closer today. A few seconds later, and he realized that his team was ready.
The engine changed pitch as the pilot rapidly decreased altitude. SFC Riddick’s stomach took a half of a second to catch up to the loss of altitude. He was never actually in danger of losing his lunch. He’d been involved in enough combat insertions that he was used to the sudden nausea. He knew it would soon pass. The sound of someone heaving behind him told him that someone’s stomach hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Thirty seconds!” the crew chief yelled into his ear.
He tapped the man closest to him on the leg. It was SPC Johnston, the team’s medic. Thirty seconds, pass it on. Down the line, men warned other men of the impending landing. Charging handles were pulled back, as each man chambered a round into his rifle.
Suddenly their descent stopped. The ramp lowered, temporarily blinding him and his team as the sunlight spilled into the back of the aircraft. The team deployed around the helicopter and SFC Riddick could see their target.
The two story farmhouse was surrounded by about two dozen zombies. Parked in front of the house was an orange and white moving van. Just like the National Guard Staff Sergeant had told them it would be. From this distance, he a
nd his team couldn’t tell if the zombies had entered the house or not. If they had, his team knew how to root them out.
“Go,” he ordered tapping Sgt Rodriguez on the shoulder. The team moved out in groups of two. Pvt Horton, the team’s radioman and SPC Johnston stayed close to SFC Riddick as they closed in on the house. They crossed the hundred meters of open space at a jog. They slowed down as the first buddy team began to engage the zombies who were now advancing on the SAR team.
At 50 yards, his people should get a headshot with one out of every two rounds they fired. Today, their marksmanship appeared to be sub-par. Watson even had to change 30 round magazines as he closed on the zombies. The NCO knew he’d have to work on that later.
Within minutes, the team had entered the house and cleared the first floor. Sgt Rodriguez stood at the base of the stairs. There, several stairs had been removed. When SFC Riddick entered the house, he silently pointed at the stairs, nodding his head.
Sgt Rodriguez slung his weapon over his shoulder, and climbed onto the first intact stair. He turned and helped the next man in the team, SPC Johnston, onto the same stair. The second man climbed the stairs, taking up a security position just below the landing.
SPC Watson was the next man up. He joined his buddy at the top of the stairs, tapping his shoulder when he arrived.
“Sgt Procell,” Johnston called out, “you up there?” After several seconds of silence, he tapped Watson on the shoulder and motioned up. He then turned and motioned Sgt Rodriguez in the same direction. The former Ranger passed the two soldiers at the top of the stairs. Watson fell in behind him. The two disappeared down the hallway.
“Doc!” Sgt Rodriguez yelled. “You better get in here.” Johnston ran in the direction of the voice. There on the bed was a man in a US army uniform with the subdued screaming eagle patch of the 101st Airborne Division on his left shoulder. His name tape read “Procell.”
The man’s right leg was bandaged and splinted to above the knee. There was a large blood stain on the blankets below the leg. The soldier’s face was pale and his forehead was drenched with sweat. A quick check told Johnston that the man’s pulse was very high. He was in shock.
The medic knew time was short. He had to stop the bleeding from the man’s leg, and he needed to get fluids into the man before he died from blood loss.
“Watson,” he barked. “Reinforce that bandage on his leg.” The soldier froze for a moment. Although he’d seen several injured people up to now, he’d never seen somebody so…so pale. He looked…looked…dead.
“God Damnit!” the medic shouted as he prepared the injured man for an IV. “He’s still breathing. Get your ass in gear before that change’s.” Watson finally reached into his own first aid pouch and withdrew a field dressing. He tied it tightly over the bloody bandage, weaving the tails under the splint. The man moaned as he tied the end of the tails tightly. Another minute and the medic had an IV in the soldier’s arm, the fluids running as fast as gravity would let them flow.
SFC Riddick entered just as the medic was taping the IV down. Seeing the shape of the injured man, he yelled for a two-man litter team. They arrived several seconds later. The man was placed on the litter and taken down stairs. The team retreated the way it had arrived. There were a few zombies that had wandered into the area, but the crew chief on the Chinook had taken care of them.
After the team was in the aircraft, the ramp was raised. The engine noise grew louder as the pilot added power, which ultimately translated to altitude. Within twenty minutes, the helicopter was on the deck of the river barge from which it had launched less than an hour before.
A plethora of groping hands helped to haul the wounded survivor off of the helicopter. He managed a smile when he saw the faces connected to those hands: Jen’s beautifully round face, Jackson’s big toothy smile, Theresa’s girlish laughter, Mike’s hair that was still too damned long, Kerry’s long beautiful red hair, and him. He had a scowl on his face and was still wearing his ACU’s.
“I knew you’d be back,” Sgt. Procell croaked as he reached out a hand. “I just didn’t know it would take the Nasty Guard so damned long.”
SSgt Brown’s scowl gradually softened into a smile. “Well, if you hadn’t gone off and gotten shot by a girl,” he chided, “we wouldn’t have had to come back for your broke ass.” They both chuckled. Somehow the younger soldier knew things would be alright.
Day 35
Sgt Procell looked up at the women hovering over him. Jen’s mousy-brown hair was pulled tight behind her head in a ponytail. The look on her face, as she studied his knee was one of worry. She looked to the other woman. She was younger than Jen. Her skin and hair were darker. Sgt. Procell knew her also. Her skin color was a shade lighter than most of the people of pure Indian decent.
“How does that feel?” She asked him. She spoke with a slight southern drawl. He was not surprised. He knew that she was part of the second generation of her family born in Louisiana.
Her expression was not one of worry as much as one gets when trying to solve a puzzle. Right now, he hated that he was puzzle.
“Still pretty sore,” he announced in his thick Carolina drawl. Her face began to sour.
“The infection is definitely getting worse,” she said to Jen. “The antibiotics we have aren’t working as well as I had hoped.”
She and Jen had performed something akin to a medieval torture session on Sgt. Procell the day he was rescued. They had debrided dead tissue from the wound with scissors that had been sterilized with rubbing alcohol. After that, the wound was sewn with a straight needle and thread that had been soaking in the same alcohol. They were only able to give him a small dose of morphine for pain control. It hadn’t really worked.
“Is it getting worse?” he asked. She looked at him with a slight smile
“A little,” She answered. “I think we’ve slowed the infection down, but whatever bug you have trying to grow in your leg is not very susceptible to the Cipro. We need to find another antibiotic to use.” He saw the tiniest frown cross her face. She turned and whispered something to Jen. He immediately saw the wheels begin turning behind those eyes. He’d seen that look before too. She too, was working on solving some unseen puzzle.
Soon, the duo was using scissors to surgically cut two of the stitches holding his wound closed. Some pressure to the wound with her fingers forced a small amount of foul smelling puss out of the wound. “For now,” Indira told him. “We’re going to let it drain.”
She deftly cut a small piece of gauze and twirled it between her fingers. She then used the end of the scissors to push the twisted gauze into the wound. He winced in pain as the gauze began to fill the space that was already inflamed and sore from infection. Jen tied a bandage over the wound, another wince of pain.
Jackson and SSgt Brown helped the soldier to his feet. Jen could see the big NCO had questions for them. Instead of asking, he slid Sgt Procell’s right arm over his shoulder, mirroring what Jackson was doing on the left. The trio exited through a small hatch just below the flying bridge. Jen watched them sit Sgt Procell in a chair on the aft deck of the 41 foot fishing boat.
Three days ago, the group had been rescued by men and women of the Mississippi River Survivor Rescue Squadron who referred to themselves as the River Rats. The River Rats were a hodge-podge of military, former military, and commercial boat captains. Soon after the outbreak, these men and women had occupied several of the barrier islands off the coast of Louisiana and Mississippi. After securing Pascagoula Island, with its abandoned naval base, they began a concerted effort to locate and rescue survivors. The leader of the team that had rescued Jen and the rest of the survivors from the roof of an over-run fire station had told her that they had rescued over 100 people from areas bordering the Mississippi River.
He hung his head as he explained that the helicopters they used were actually liberated from Keesler Air Force Base. Jen knew he must have lost friends and hadn’t asked him to elaborate. He finally volunte
ered that about 30 military and ex-military guys had cut through the fence after landing at Back Bay. Only four pilots and sixteen grunts, as he called them, made it out. “But,” he said as his smile widened “we did get four Chinooks and they’ve been doing a world of good,” he said with pride.
The helicopter had landed on a river barge in the middle of the Mississippi River. The barge was traveling south when they landed. Shortly after landing, they were hustled to the far end of the barge. Jen had seen several men hurriedly begin fueling the big machine. Somehow in the confusion, Jackson had become separated from the rest of the survivors. It wasn’t until after the helicopter had ascended that she realized no one knew where Private Jackson was.
She was almost in tears as the Helicopter returned an hour later. Her spirits lifted when she saw Jackson lead SSgt Brown, Theresa, and Ms. Hebert off of the craft and onto the deck. Her heart skipped a beat as they strode toward her in the fading light. The group was embraced tightly by not only herself, but also Kerry, Indira and Mike.
None of the others seemed to notice Ms. Hebert. She stalked away from them and walked quietly to the group of firemen and family members with whom she had spent the better part of a month. Jen noticed that she was not greeted as warmly by her people.
They had spent the next few days on the barge, eating cold food and watching the helicopter as it flew off in search of other survivors. It returned several times to disgorge passengers. The first time it was Sgt Procell who was carried off of the helicopter on a makeshift stretcher. She and Indira had spent a few hours trying hard to save their friend’s life. To call the conditions primitive would be an understatement. They were downright archaic.
The second time three survivors walked wearily off of the helicopter. The group consisted of an older black man, maybe 60, and a pair of pretty young women. Both women appeared to be in their twenties. They both looked alike, and Jen thought they looked a bit like the old guy. Maybe they were his granddaughters she had thought at the time. Several crew members took the trio to the pilothouse of the barge. She hadn’t seen them since.
