by Glyn Gardner
SSgt Brown identified himself and introduced the other three. He made sure to add his rank and unit affiliation. He thought it might give him some authority.
“Staff Sergeant huh,” Roy asked said. “I guess that means you outrank me. I’m only a Petty Officer Third Class. That’s an E-5 for you army guys.” He turned to an unseen person on the roof for a moment. “So what rank is your friend back there? Or did he steal the uniform from someone?” He pointed towards Jackson and Kerry.
He swore to himself. “That’s Private Jackson. He’s one of mine. The other is Kerry.”
“Well, why don’t you have Ms. Kerry and Mr. Jackson join the party. We don’t want them to be left out.”
“Jackson,” the NCO barked. “You and Kerry are good to come up.” SSgt Brown noticed that the zombies in the middle of the cars had begun moaning loudly at them. He also noticed that there were several zombies that had wandered off of a side street and were shambling towards them. “Would you mind if we continued our conversation off the street? It’s starting to get a little crowded down here.”
Roy met them at the top of the ladder. He was taller than SSgt Brown, and had a thick mustache. SSgt Brown couldn’t help but ponder the difference between Army and Navy grooming standards. He unconsciously rubbed his own face. The five day old stubble made him chuckle at his last thought.
He held a hand out to the sailor. “Dave Brown,” he began. “Thanks for inviting us in.”
“Roy Benton,” the other man replied. “Of course you are welcome.”
SSgt Brown could see something in the other man’s eyes. Was it suspicion or anger? Whatever it was, the man was not as pleased to see interlopers on his land as he led them to believe. He couldn’t blame the man.
He glanced around the rooftop. There were seven other men with civilian hunting rifles on the roof he was standing on. Across the street, he could see four more. It was a good thing they hadn’t started shooting. His people would have been mown down in a matter of seconds, even with Jackson and Kerry covering them.
Roy led them wordlessly down a ladder into the store below. There, they found another three dozen survivors. Roy introduced everyone, although SSgt Brown knew he wouldn’t remember a single name. The survivors seemed to be of every shape, color and creed. There was an older couple, six or seven kids who all looked to be under the age of ten. There were women and men, husbands and wives, almost all races were represented.
All of the adults were armed with a firearm. SSgt Brown saw a long row of broom handles leaning against a wall. Each one topped with what appeared to be the tines of a pitchfork on top. Beside each one was a piece of wood that stood about two feet. They all seemed to come from the same few pieces of wood, like they were a table or two at one time.
Upon further interrogation, that is exactly what they were. Someone had taken several tables and fashioned them into shields. Then they had taken all of the broom handles from the closest hardware store and produced spears. Roy told them that there were enough spears and shields to outfit each adult in the Haven twice.
Roy also showed them the latest weapon to come from the Haven’s resident weapons designer. The man’s name was Carl. Carl had been an aircraft engineer for 40 years. He had retired to the Gulf Coast last year. Before that he had helped design some of the best combat aircraft this country had ever built. Today Carl was fashioning something resembling a short sword.
He proudly showed the group how he would hammer and grind lawnmower blades into something that resembled a crude Gladius. The finished product had about a 15 inch blade, and the hilt was slightly longer than a large man’s hand. He would wrap the hilt in nylon parachute cord. He informed them that he would have liked leather, but that was just too hard to come by.
SSgt Brown picked up one of the swords. It wasn’t too bad. There was no pummel on the end of the hilt, so the sword’s balance wasn’t all that great. The tip, however, was very sharp. And, the edge was razor sharp for about 10 of the 15 inches. He gave it a tentative swing. The weight of the tip made the swing more powerful, but less controlled, than he had intended. He could picture slicing through a zombie’s head with this modern day Gladius.
The old man offered to let SSgt Brown keep the one in his hand. He thanked the man, but respectfully declined. “We’re not here for weapons right now,” the NCO told them. We’re actually on the hunt for medical supplies.” He spent the next twenty minutes telling the survivors in the Haven about the Island.
“Sounds like you have a lot of mouths to feed,” one of the younger men said after he finished.
“We’re not just feeding folks,” SSgt Brown responded. “We’re trying to find a place to start over.”
“Well, looks like we got us a place right here.” This man was older. His grey stubble and short grey hair told SSgt Brown that he was probably in his late 40’s. His accent wasn’t southern, more like the Midwest.
Kerry spoke. “We’re not asking you to leave. Sergeant Brown was simply explaining why we are here and what we are looking for.” She looked to the first man to speak. She liked his rough features and dark hair. Her voice cracked as she realized he was staring at her. “We would like to know that we have friends here.” She quickly looked away from his piercing eyes, the butterflies dancing in her gut.
“So,” began the older man. “You don’t want to take us in, but you want to pillage our hunting ground?”
“We are most certainly not trying to pillage anything,” Jen retorted. “We’re trying to find the supplies we need to save lives.”
Kerry put a hand on Jen’s shoulder, quieting her. “What my friend is saying is that we’re not here to steal from you. We would like to be friends with the people of the Haven. We would like to know that the people of the Haven would be willing to work with the people of the Island in order to further our common interests.”
“And, what would those interests be?” the older man asked. The words were so filled with distrust and anger that he literally spat them out. The cute one with the dark hair stood and walked next to the old man with the angry eyes.
“I think we can all agree that survival is the number one goal of everyone here.” Kerry found it kind of strange that her and this stranger, cute as he is, were doing most of the talking. Why wasn’t SSgt Brown doing the talking? Who is the leader of these people? She had thought it was Roy when they were on the roof, but now she wasn’t sure.
“Of course we are in it for survival,” she began. “But, it’s more than that. There is a greater good that we have to be concerned about. Right now the human race is on the verge of extinction. I’ve heard people say that the human race may be down to one percent of its former population.” She paused for the effect. She could see that some of the others were paying closer attention. She was getting through.
“We on the Island are not interested in simply surviving. We are trying to provide a safe place for humanity to begin to retake America, and ultimately the world.” Again she paused. She looked into each and every eye that would return her gaze.
“I would personally like to know that whenever I return to the mainland I know I have a safe place to eat a meal and lay my head. I would like to know that I not only have allies in the war on the undead, but I have friends.” She looked to the older man. “I pledge my friendship to you and the people of the Haven. From this day forward, you are welcome at my table.” She was conscious that she sounded like something out of Beowulf, but it seemed to be working.
Roy finally stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on the shoulder of the older man. “I believe this town has plenty of supplies for you and us.” He looked the other man in the eyes. His voice became lower, softer, somehow more threatening. “Do you really think we’re going to starve anytime soon?” To SSgt Brown, he nodded. “We at the Haven would be honored to have friends on the Island. Please,” he waved them into a store room. “Let’s break bread. All this diplomacy is making me hungry.”
For the next hour, the
groups mingled. They told stories of how they had come to this place. They told stories of those they had lost. They told stories about the times before the fall. They laughed with each other, they cried, but mostly they bonded. From this point onwards, they would be friends.
Roy explained to SSgt Brown how they had taken care of the local zombie problem. It was actually quite brilliant. The zombies were lured by a car horn onto the ramp and into the pit made from the cars. They became trapped. Every so often, usually about every six hours, someone from the roof would spray gasoline or oil onto the crowd of zombies with a pump sprayer. One match and thirty minutes later, and the local zombie population were reduced to ashes.
They turn the car horn off at night, so that everyone can sleep, and to not attract too many undead during darkness. He reported that it had been so effective, that their raiding parties were able to go just about anywhere on this part of town unmolested. He explained that the group had rescued sixteen individuals during the last two weeks, and they still had enough food in the buildings to feed themselves for a month.
“You guys have a radio?” SSgt Brown asked.
“We have a NOAH weather radio.”
“How about a two way, do you guys have a CB or something?”
“I’m sure there is one in one of the cars around here. We just haven’t had a need to liberate one.”
“Well, I’m going to ask if you’d liberate two. We can hook one up to my boat and we can keep in touch when we’re coming in.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
After they ate, SSgt Brown rounded his people up. They still had a job to do and he didn’t want to be out after dark. One of Roy’s men, an older black man named Josiah, volunteered to escort them. He reported that he had been part of the maintenance crew at the hospital and knew how to get the team in and out. SSgt Brown graciously accepted his offer.
Right before they left, Roy approached SSgt Brown with a request. It seems that none of Roy’s people had any medical training. He himself was a supply NCO in the Navy. His medical training consisted of putting bandages and splints on injuries. He knew that some of his people were in need of, if nothing else, at least a checkup. He asked if Jen would be willing to provide that service. “You know,” he began. “For services already rendered.” SSgt Brown agreed, but not now. It would have to wait until they returned from the hospital.
The hospital seemed deserted to Mike when they pulled up to the loading dock. Josiah had told them that should be the safest way in. It was farther away from the main entrances than any other door. He explained that the power had gone out about three weeks ago. Since then, the hospital’s emergency generators may have provided the facilities automatic doors with power. This, he pointed out would have allowed zombies to enter and exit at will.
The loading dock, he advised, led to central supply. This area was also a locked area. They shouldn’t have to deal with any zombies, he hoped.
The exterior door was, in fact, locked. Mike took that as a good sign. Jackson pulled a crowbar from the back seat of the jeep. They had brought it for just such an occasion. He and Mike shoved against the bar several times before the door finally burst open. The emergency lights were all that illuminated the other side of the door. It made the room appear eerie. But, Mike thought, that could just be the situation.
An image of a zombie in a gown attacking Jen’s boss on television flashed into his mind. He could feel his heart race. He jumped when Jackson put a hand on his shoulder. “You ok Mike?” he asked.
“Shit,” he whispered. “I don’t know. Just a little jumpy I guess.”
“Hey, after getting Red over there to save your ass last night, I can see why you might be a bit jumpy. Just relax, baby. Ole’ Jackson’s got your back.” The soldier flashed him a giant toothy grin. It did put Mike at ease a little. The kid had a knack for keeping them out of trouble.
The group slid into the supply room as quietly as possible. SSgt Brown had decided that Jackson and Theresa would guard Jen as she stalked the aisles looking for supplies. Josiah, Mike, and Kerry would haul everything to the truck. He would keep an eye on the door leading to the rest of the hospital. Josiah had assured them that there was only one.
After thirty minutes, Jen announced that she had located everything she thought they would need with the exception of medications. She asked Josiah where the pharmacy was. The older man frowned. It was three floors above them on the opposite side of the hospital. She looked around the supply room one more time. She spotted a small refrigerator in the break room. She ordered Mike to load it.
“Ok, Jackson. You and Josiah get us to the stairs.” SSgt Brown began organizing the rest of the raid. “Theresa and Mike, you guys back them up. Kerry, you and I got tail-end Charlie.”
Mike eased past the duo in the front and slowly opened the door. It was obvious the door had not opened in a long time. The hinges let out the loudest squeal he had ever heard. He peered through. The hallway was lit as well as the supply room had been. Shadows dominated the long hallway. There were no dead that he could see. He waved the others through.
He watched as Jackson reached the next hallway. He was amazed at how quiet the two black men were. He wondered if Josiah had any military training. He never asked. The pair split, sliding along the wall. Each man looking down the hallway opposite the wall he was leaning.
Jackson threw his left fist up next to his ear. Freeze! He then held up two fingers and pointed down the hall. Josiah leaned a little to his right in an attempt to get a better look. He held up three fingers. Five zombies in the hallway, Mike thought.
SSgt Brown withdrew his bayonet from its scabbard, and making eye contact with each of them. The message was clear. No shooting, knives only. Everyone except Theresa and Jen pulled out a blade of some kind. Josiah had a Gladius from the Haven. The soldiers each had bayonets. Mike and Kerry both had buck knives. Mike remembered the picture of the TV star whose face had graced the packaging. He wondered if he had survived, or if he was as dead as the rest of the world.
Jackson held up three fingers, then two, then one. When he closed his fist, he slid around the corner. Mike followed. There before him were three zombies all wearing hospital gowns. Two were male one was female. Had they not been zombies, all would look too sick to hurt a flea. But they were zombies. And now, they were moving. Jackson shoved his bayonet under the jaw of the first one they came to. The blade slid easily through the bone, and into the monster’s brain. It crumpled to the floor before it had a chance to moan.
The second zombie, a woman who looked to be about 100 years old, moaned loudly as Mike jammed his knife into her skull. The monster dropped to the floor, taking him and his knife with it. He shoved his boot against the woman’s head as he rolled away. The knife made a sucking sound as it was freed from her brain.
He regained his feet, coming up to a crouching position, but facing the wrong way. He could see SSgt Brown and Josiah. Both men were standing over the recently re-deceased. SSgt Brown’s face was a frown. Mike saw him begin to charge towards him. Move! A voice in his head yelled. He threw himself into a combat roll in the direction of the others.
He jerked his head left as he did. He caught a glimpse of the fifth zombie. It was only a step away from him, leaning over, reaching down for him. He watched as it fell to the ground; its hands failing to break its fall as they continued to reach out to him. He kicked with both feet in an attempt to gain some distance on the zombie. His right foot lost its purchase on the slick tile floor. It slid right into the outstretched hand of the zombie.
Frantically, he kicked at the zombie’s face. Blood began to pour from its mouth. Several teeth fell out as it howled at its prey. Mike had never heard one moan so loudly. It was as if it was angry. The next kick drove the zombie’s head backwards at an odd angle. The hand holding his right leg went limp. The zombie stopped moving. Then its mouth opened and closed; its eyes turned circles in its head. Mike realized he hadn’t killed it. He had merely severe
d its spine. The brain, and therefore the drive to feed, was still alive. A shiver ran down his spine as he drove the big knife into its left ear.
Hands grasped him under the arms and lifted him to his feet. Panic filled the eyes, only inches from his face. “Mike,” the young trooper whispered. “Are you ok? Fuck man, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s ok,” the older man responded quietly.
“No, it’s not. That bitch ended up on my rifle when she fell.” His voice was more panicky. He needed to explain. He needed Mike to know he really did have his back.
“Jackson,” the older man said softly. “It’s ok. I know.” He slapped a hand on the trooper’s shoulder and smiled.
“Do you two need a moment?” SSgt Brown interrupted. “Maybe you guys need one of these empty rooms?” They didn’t laugh at his joke, but they got the point. Jackson and Josiah led the way to the stairwell.
The door was at the end of the hallway and opened inwards. Jackson peered over his shoulder at SSgt Brown. The NCO nodded his assent. Jackson pushed the door open a few inches. SSgt Brown cringed as the door squeaked loudly in protest.
Suddenly, there was moaning. Some of I was coming from the direction they had just come from. Some of it was from inside the stairwell. Jackson was the first to react. He shoved his shoulder into the door, slamming the back of the door against something soft. Zombie! His brain warned.
“Got one behind the door,” he announced in a not so quiet whisper. Josiah slid past him and dispatched the monster with his short sword. The zombie was dressed in flowery pink scrubs. Its long hair pulled back in a pony tail. The sword made a wet crunching sound as it sliced through the zombie’s head, separating the top of its skull from the rest of the body. Black and pink fluid oozed from the zombie’s half-head.
The rest of the team charged into the stairwell, Kerry slamming the door shut behind her. As she had entered, she had seen several zombies rounding a corner at the other end of the hall. One, a young child, had made eye contact with her. She had seen the child-zombie’s mouth open as it began to moan. She pulled the re-dead zombie behind the door. It wouldn’t be much, but maybe it would slow them down long enough to lose interest.
