by Glyn Gardner
There, behind the big bike was the body of a man in jeans and denim vest. A rifle was lying at an odd angle across the bike. It looked to the old soldier as if the man had been using the bike as cover while he was taking aim at… Ah, he thought, that was it. Whoever was in the building had shot the biker while he was aiming at them.
A lump suddenly appeared in his throat. Was this an ambush? Or, was this some kind of friendly fire incident? He thought about the guys in the first truck shooting up the housing area, acting like this was some big game.
Another gunshot brought him back to the present. Jackson was looking at him for direction. He pointed west, away from the building. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Jackson, get us off this post and find us some wheels. You gentlemen just follow Private Jackson.”
Jackson led them to the fence running along the west side of the base. Deciding to take a chance, he led them south along the fence. Luckily for them, there were no zombies along this fence. Jackson had hoped to lead them to their original breach and out onto the road.
As they approached the breach, Jackson slowed and then stopped in a crouch. Slowly the other members of the group did likewise. SSgt Brown duck-walked to the front of the column. Even before Jackson pointed, he knew they couldn’t use the breach. A steady stream of undead was entering the base, undoubtedly drawn to the sound of gunfire.
“Holy Shit!” one of the Haven men exclaimed. SSgt Brown gave him a nasty look and held a single finger to his lips. But, it was too late. Several of the zombies had turned on the group and were moaning loudly.
“Shit!” He leapt up. “C’mon, follow me.” He led them back along the fence.
He led them to the northern corner of the base. There they found a golf course. He stopped at the edge of the trees surrounding the open area. The golf course was covered with zombies. He counted thirty and stopped.
Quickly they moved east again. He didn’t like the idea of heading back towards those machineguns, but there was no other option. North and South were blocked by zombies and the fence along the western edge of the base was topped in razor wire.
He led them around several small, seemingly empty, buildings and through some sparse trees. On the other side was a motor pool. It appeared that most of the equipment was gone, but there were a couple of HMMWV’s a half-dozen 5 ton trucks, and some specialty engineer equipment, including bulldozers and forklifts.
His heart skipped a beat. This is what they had come for. He looked back. There weren’t any zombies close to them, and only a few seemed to be showing any interest.
“John, get your people working on those vehicles. Find us a few that run.” He was pointing at the vehicles in the lot. “Stay together and don’t leave without us.”
He turned to Jackson. “Come with me. I got a hunch.” He led Jackson through the next motor pool. From there, they were about 50 yards from the building with the machineguns. They’d all seen the truck take out the wall. Single gunshots could be heard from inside. A zombie tried to enter through the hole in the wall. Another gunshot and the monster fell lifeless.
The pair of soldiers could see several more zombies moving towards the hole in the wall. They looked at each other. Then back towards the housing area and the unseen breach in the fence. They both understood the situation. Whoever was inside that building was on borrowed time.
“We can’t just let them die,” the young trooper said to the NCO. His eyes pleaded with SSgt Brown to do something. SSgt Brown had doubted his own instincts. Even as they snuck through the motor pool, he hadn’t decided if he was going to risk himself or his people for these strangers. Jackson’s endorsement sealed the deal.
He stood and raised his rifle. There were six zombies between him and the hole in the building. He fired several aimed shot into the closest two. Jackson’s rifle fired twice, dropping two more zombies. The last zombie fell to the unseen rifleman inside the building.
He glanced at Jackson and shrugged. Fuck it! He ran to the side of the hole, Jackson a step behind him.
“Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice called from inside. SSgt Brown realized that the unseen person had seen them running and had not engaged them. Things were beginning to look promising
“Staff Sergeant Brown, 108th Cavalry;” he answered as confidently.
“Cavalry huh? The Cavalry trade in their humvees for orange Jeeps?”
“What’s left of the 108th has,” he countered. “But there aren’t many of us left.”
“What do you guys want?”
“We’re just here to liberate some of that construction equipment.”
“So you’re here to steal US government equipment?”
“I was thinking more like re-appropriating military equipment from Navy to Louisiana National Guard.”
The man inside chuckled loudly. “C’mon in. We’ll discuss your appropriation of my equipment.”
John was getting a little worried. The soldiers had been gone for about ten minutes. They could still hear single shots coming from the building. He rubbed his head as he did another inventory of the vehicles they’d liberated. Nope, it hadn’t changed from forty seconds ago: Two trucks the soldiers called HEMTT’s, two hummers, a bulldozer and a forklift.
What the hell, he thought? He glanced at his watch again and then at his vehicles again. Yep, still the same. He rubbed his head again.
Jackson suddenly appeared in front of the hummer. He indicated for them to mount the military vehicles. He directed two men to ride shotgun on the dozer and forklift. He jumped into the driver’s seat of one of the five-tons. “Follow me!” he shouted.
SSgt Brown directed Jackson as he backed the large green truck to the front door of the building. The rest of the vehicles formed a rough semicircle around the large truck. Chief Romanov’s people loaded their gear in the truck, followed by food, water, and ammo. One sailor helped another injured sailor into one of the HMMWV’s. The sailor had a bloody bandage tied around his right shoulder, a second one tied his right arm securely to his body.
John watched as the military folks carried out two bodies wrapped in dark green wool blankets. Dark stains indicated where blood had soaked through the wool. A trail of red drops marked the path of the fallen. They gently placed each body in the bed of the truck. John didn’t know the difference in the uniforms, but neither was the dark blue that the Navy people wore. He could tell by the size of the tan boots that one was female. His heart sank just thinking about it.
After loading the vehicles, Chief Romanov led them to an outdoor supply area. One of his Seabees loaded a pallet of empty sandbags into the back of one of the large trucks. Then he took the group by the armory. It had been stripped pretty bare. They liberated another M240B, a couple of M16’s, and a-half-dozen semiautomatic pistols. They were also able to find some ammo. Both NCO’s agreed that there was not nearly enough.
The little convoy knocked over another section of fence on the way out. They were forced to drive on through yards as they made their way to the Haven. During the trip, Chief Romanov told them of the story of his little class.
When he told them about the man on the motorcycle, SSgt Brown’s spidy-senses tingled. He knew some great people in the Guard who were bikers. They wore the leathers, jeans, chaps, and even the Nazi helmet. But something about these bikers around here had him worried. His thoughts drifted to Ms. Hebert.
Jen could hear the sound of heavy diesel engines long before the group arrived. She said a silent prayer that no one was hurt. She held her breath as the vehicles began pulling into the Haven. She didn’t let it out until she’d seen both SSgt Brown and Jackson.
SSgt Brown introduced Chief Romanov and his Seabees to Roy. The sailor seemed happy to see another sailor. When he found out that the sailors were all Seabees, he was ecstatic. Chief Romanov ensured Roy that he would turn the Haven into an impenetrable fortress in no time. The three agreed that two of the Chief’s people would go with SSgt Brown and his people back to the Island. The wounded sailor
, Hauser, would also travel with them to the Island for medical treatment. Jen assured his buddies that he would live.
A quiet fell over the group as the sailors began removing the bodies from the truck. The military men snapped to attention and saluted. Chief Romanov hoped that no one noticed him wiping tears on his sleeve.
Day 43
The Island
Mr. Westergart sent for SSgt Brown and the two Seabees at 0700. When SSgt Brown arrived, someone had delivered breakfast to the mayor’s conference room. The three servicemen sat at one end of the large table and began to eat powdered doughnuts and orange juice from individual plastic bottles.
SSgt Brown had just opened his second package of doughnuts, this time chocolate covered, when Mr. Westergart entered the room, followed by Jerry. “Gentlemen,” he began, “our problems have just gotten worse.” He paused for a moment.
“Last night, one of our foraging parties did not return. I wasn’t worried at first. As we all know, things happen out there and sometimes the dead force a change of plans.” He paused for a moment. “That is absolutely not what happened to Harold and his group yesterday.”
SSgt Brown knew that Harold Hanson had been part of the group Mr. Westergart had led to the Island. He had liked Harold from the moment he had met the young ex-Coast Guardsman. A knot suddenly formed in the pit of SSgt Brown’s stomach. “What happened?” he asked stoically.
“Those damned bikers again,” he spat. The men could hear the anger in his voice. He went on to tell them that one of their men had made it to the bridge early this morning. He had been stabbed and shot, and subsequently died. Before he did, he told the guard at the gate that they had been attacked by a dozen men on motorcycles.
“Where were they when they were attacked?” SSgt Brown asked. Mr. Westergart pointed to a place on the map.
“This is where they were going. I don’t know if they made it or not.” His finger rested on an intersection about a mile west of the church where SSgt Brown’s team had been ambushed a few days prior. There’s no way this isn’t the same guys.
Suddenly a woman burst in the room. Her face was covered in pure panic. “Hurry! They’re at the gate!” She turned and ran out of the room. The five men followed.
They could hear the sound of gunfire long before they reached the gate. SSgt Brown could see the feet of the two men on top of the shipping containers that bracketed the gate. He couldn’t tell if they were alive or dead.
He and Mr. Westergart arrived behind the shipping container at the same time. SSgt Brown was impressed at the older man’s stamina. His lips curved up into a tiny smile for only an instant. The sound of motorcycle engines and gunshots brought his attention back to the task at hand. It quickly became apparent that the shooters where not shooting at them. Maybe up in the air or at something else.
SSgt Brown climbed the ladder and slid onto the cold metal. He low crawled until he could see the shooter. His jaw dropped in horror. The motorcycle contained two people. One was driving the big bike in a giant figure eight on the bridge in front of the gate. Seated behind him was a woman. SSgt Brown couldn’t make out her features, except that she seemed to be rather skinny, and she had light hair sticking out from under the coal scuttle helmet she wore.
The woman had both hands raised above her head. In one hand, she held a large semi-automatic pistol. Every few seconds, she’d fire two or three rounds into the air. In the other hand, she held a severed head by the hair.
“Son of a bitch,” Mr. Westergart exclaimed quietly. SSgt Brown hadn’t even realized the older man had slid next to him. “That’s Harold Hanson.” The pit in SSgt Brown’s stomach grew even larger. He turned his head to the guard lying prone next to him.
“Is this all they’ve done for the last ten minutes is drive in a circle?”
The man shook his head. “No. They’ve been yelling something about trespassing on their turf or some shit. Hell, the chick sounds like she’s high on something.”
“Do you see anyone else out there, or is it just these two?”
The man pointed toward the end of the bridge. When SSgt Brown saw what the man was pointing at, his despair deepened. There, parked just off the opposite end of the bridge, on the road leading into the port facility were at least twenty motorcycles. He could count ten rifles pointing toward them from 300 yards away.
“Looks like about a dozen at the end of the bridge,” Mr. Westergart whispered. “You think any of them can hit anything from that range?”
“Probably not,” SSgt Brown answered worriedly. “It’s not the one aimed at me that scares me. It’s the ones that are addressed ‘to whom it may concern.’” The two soldiers chuckled at the old soldier’s joke. “There are, however, too many bikes.”
Mr. Westergart looked confused. “There’s a good twenty or so bikes over there.” He pointed. “But, I only count a dozen bad guys. Where’s the rest of ‘em?” The woman on the bike fired a single shot into the air.
On the next pass, the bike came to a stop 25 meters from the front gate. She climbed off, shoving her pistol into a drop holster. She held the severed head high into the air.
“Who’s in charge?” Her voice was deeper than it should have been, older too. She sounded like an old smoker. Something isn’t right here, SSgt Brown thought. He said as much to Mr. Westergart.
“I know. This is all wrong. You and the swab-jockeys get back to the Island. Get the defenses manned. Get one of the trucks to block the bridge and get a machinegun team on it. Get Enterprise and Sea Witch cast off and crewed; Captain and three armed crewmen per boat.” He looked around. The woman was yelling for the person in charge again. “These guys are trying something sneaky. You guys find them and take care of it. Don’t negotiate. You find them; you kill ‘em.”
He stood up, his rifle held loosely in his right hand. “I’m in charge here. Who wants to know?”
The woman stared at the old soldier. He realized from her facial expression that he did not look nearly as intimidating as he did twenty years ago. He willed himself to somehow look tougher than he did.
“What’s your name, boy?” She emphasized the last word. He noticed it, but it didn’t bother him. He’d been called all sorts of racial slurs during his time in the Army. And, that was by people who wore the same uniform as he. This woman meant nothing to him and her attempt at an insult fell well short.
“Terrance,” he answered in a calm voice. “Who are you young lady?”
“Don’t worry about who I am Terrance,” she said with disdain. “I’m the woman who is going to be responsible for saving your life.” She paused for a long second. “Or, I’m the woman who will be responsible for your death.” She raised the disembodied head again.
“Do you mind if I ask you what happened to Harold?” His voice remained calm. He concentrated on breathing deep. He didn’t want anyone to know this bothered him in the least.
“Oh, you mean this fuck?” She tossed the head towards the gate. It landed several yards short and rolled several times before coming to a stop. Harold’s eyes started lifelessly up at the trio of survivors who had recently been his friends. “He was found trespassing. So, he was…um…punished. He and his friends were punished.”
She raised her voice in an attempt to be heard on the Island itself. “Just like you all will be punished.” Her voice returned to normal. “You and your people will leave this Island. You will leave your weapons, vehicles, supplies…” The woman looked to the man next to her.
For the first time, Mr. Westergart looked closely at the man. He was tall and very broad at the shoulders. His waist was by no means thin. His beard was scruffy and may have had a few grey hairs, but not many. He wore jeans and a tee-shirt. His vest was denim and covered with small patches that were indistinguishable to Mr. Westergart from that distance. His face had a maniacal grin that showed too many teeth. He was shaking his head.
“How many women do you have on our Island?”
Mr. Westergart’s stomach sank at t
he question. He’d known these people were bad people. He had hoped they were just trying to carve out their own territory in this new world. Those people could be reasoned with. This just changed the game. These people aren’t competing for resources.
Without another word, he raised his rifle and fired two quick shots. Both the woman and the big man fell to the ground. The man writhed in pain and howled for his friends. The woman lay motionless. A pool of blood spread rapidly from under her back.
Bullets began to buzz around Mr. Westergart’s ears. The people from the other end of the bridge were shooting. Just as he thought, they were too far away to do much harm. He assumed a good prone firing position and waited. He’d dealt with untrained “warriors” before. He knew what they would do next.
SSgt Brown and the two sailors had just reached the Island when he heard Mr. Westergart’s shots. They were met by Jackson, Kerry, Bamma, Sgt Procell, Sam, Jen, and Indira. He barked out a few quick orders to each of them. Then he spun on his heels. Jackson, Kerry, and Sgt Procell followed him to the Sea Witch.
He’d already decided that there were only two ways onto the Island, by sea or across the bridge. The bridge did have a small walkway on the left that was protected by concrete barriers on both sides. It would cover an attacking force from fire from the road bridge, but would act like a long, straight, and narrow channel. A guy with a pistol could hold the walking bridge.
The second avenue would be by sea. It was about three or four hundred yards from the mainland to the northern tip of the Island. Several days ago, he’d placed one of the shipping containers, turned bunker near that point. He was sure that even now it was being manned by several of the men of the Island.
That left a boat as the only way onto the Island. He intended to take Sea Witch and Enterprise around the Island and intercept any boats trying to make the shoreline.
