by Glyn Gardner
The two boats cast off. Sea Witch, with Kerry at the helm, led the way. Bamma kept his boat about fifty yards to the right and behind the Sea Witch. SSgt Brown was able to coordinate the movements of both boats by way of two way radios that had been recently installed.
It occurred to SSgt Brown that he had no idea how to use boats in combat. The only training he had with boats as a Cavalry Scout was using them to cross rivers. He also realized that he was probably the only US Army NCO in history to command a fleet, all-be-it a small one, in combat.
He directed the boats west, under the bridge. He then ordered Kerry to turn north to run parallel to the walking bridge. Just as he passed the gate, his boat began taking fire from the walking bridge. Shit! Mr. Westergart didn’t realize he had an exposed flank. People with guns had gotten to within 50 yards of the gate. He ordered Kerry to come around and everyone to fire on the men on the bridge.
The sound of gunfire to his right startled Mr. Westergart. He hadn’t realized that there was a protected footbridge running the length of the road bridge. He slid forward just in time to see a dozen men in jeans and denim vests leap the concrete barrier.
He raised his rifle to his shoulder, took aim, and began squeezing the trigger. The first man fell to the ground, writhing in pain from a wound to his abdomen. Mr. Westergart didn’t have time to put him out of his misery. He quickly acquired a new target and squeezed off a short burst. The man fell to the ground motionless, dead from a trio of bullets driving through his chest.
Bullets suddenly began whizzing around Mr. Westergart’s head again. The fire was so heavy that he was forced to drop back down into the prone position. He snapped off another burst and sent another attacker sprawling to the ground.
Bullets began slamming into the metal shipping container under Mr. Westergart. He rolled right several feet, popping up only long enough to fire off two quick shots. Both shots flew above his target. He swore. He’d have to relax on the next shot.
SSgt Brown saw the dozen heads rise as one and disappear onto the bridge before the Sea Witch was able to come about. By the time he could bring rifles to bear, the attackers couldn’t be seen from the water. He knew immediately what was going to happen. There were only three people on the gate, and they were being rushed by a dozen heavily armed men from close range.
He pointed at the point where the bridge connected with the dry land of the Island. The truck was just pulling into place. “There! Get me there.” The boat slid onto the grass covered sand. He and Jackson dismounted on the run. Sgt Procell leapt from the bow of the boat, landing with a splash. The older NCO turned quickly to him.
“You stay with her!” he yelled. The younger man shook his head.
“No, you need all the guns you can get.”
“She needs a gun here with her. Plus, you still can’t run for shit with that busted leg. Stay on the Witch and keep her safe!” He was pointing at the young redhead. Sgt Procell looked dejected, but did as he was ordered. The boat made a slight scraping sound as Kerry backed the bow off of the sand.
Mr. Westergart knew he was in trouble. Both of the men with him were dead. Their blood made the top of the shipping container slick. He was down to his last magazine, and there were at least three men who had made it to the container. None had scaled the metal box yet, but they were in a defilade position; meaning he would have to expose himself to shoot down on them. Every time he fired at another attacker, the bad guys below him would fire wildly through the container. That was how his second man had been killed.
He decided it was time to go. He fired a long burst at a downward angle through the container then jumped down onto the bridge. It was then that he remembered he was not as fast as he used to be. He could see the truck with the machinegun on the end of the bridge. He remembered thinking how far away it looked.
He saw SSgt Brown and Jackson climb the barriers and begin running towards him. Suddenly they both drop to the prone position. His skin crawled. He could feel the unseen rifles pointing at his back. He lowered his head, the adrenaline giving him a little burst of speed.
Suddenly the two soldiers were firing. They were firing well aimed, single shots. He chanced a quick glance over his shoulder as he passed the two soldiers. Several of the attackers were on top of the shipping container. He could see two bodies on the ground on his side. Both were bad guys.
Suddenly the M240B began firing. Bullets whizzed by. He could see the tracer rounds streaking over his head. The sound of boots on concrete behind him told him that the two soldiers were also taking advantage of the cover provided by the machinegun.
He slid to a stop as he passed the big truck. SSgt Brown almost ran him over as he did. He turned to the soldiers. He couldn’t breathe. He had his hands on his knees as struggled to catch his breath. He felt that familiar tingling in his lips and his ears were ringing. He knew from experience this was the beginnings of hypoxia, lack of oxygen to the brain. Usually he’d dealt with it when he’d done PT at higher elevations. It was just one more reminder of how old and out of shape he was.
Ender couldn’t believe his luck. Originally, he’d thought the severed head would be enough to intimidate these people into leaving. He liked the Island. The idea of a nice place with sandy beaches and only one way for the dead to get in was paradise.
Then that nigger went and shot Sandy and Buck. He’d thought it was over when the man wasn’t intimidated but instead killed his two emissaries. But then Hank’s boys had hopped over that concrete wall and surprised the shit out of that old man. He had actually cheered when he saw several of his men actually climbing the side of the red metal container.
He strode along his side of the bridge between his land and the Island. Eight bodies were lined up in a row. Two other men were on the ground moaning loudly in pain. He tossed a bottle of Percocet to Sampson. The black man was the only man in their group with any medical training. He had been a pharmacy tech at one of the local pharmacies. “Give ‘em a couple of these and shut ‘em up,” ordered without looking at the man.
He contemplated the situation. He had gained control of the port facility and all of its goods without firing a shot. He controlled the bridge and all access on and off the Island. He didn’t have his sandy beach yet, but he was so close he could smell it.
He looked at the body of one of the dead. Before he led the charge that ultimately took his life, Hank had told him that there were about a hundred people on the Island. That’s a lot of mouths. They’ll get hungry soon. When they do, they’ll give me anything I want just for the chance to eat. The nigger, he thought. I think I want him. A crooked smile broke across the man’s face.
The people of the Island had not sat idly by while their enemies consolidated their gains. After ensuring that the near end of the bridge was secure from invaders, Mr. Westergart and SSgt Brown devised a plan. A meeting of the senior leaders was held and the situation was explained.
The council voiced its concerns to Mr. Westergart, but agreed to let him and the military folks handle the situation. Tabitha made sure to point out that the council could and would remove Mr. Westergart if at any point they believed he was putting the people of the Island in jeopardy.
The boat slid quietly onto the shore. The six people on the boat had taken turns paddling with makeshift oars. The current caused half mile journey to take the better part of an hour.
They had waited until the sun went down before they shoved off. SSgt Brown had hand-picked his team. Of course Jackson and Sgt Procell were part of the team. He had also chosen Sam and Kerry. The last member of the team was the only one who was not actually hand-picked.
When she had heard about the raid, Theresa had demanded to go. Kerry and Sgt Procell had both tried to talk SSgt Brown out of letting her go. He had been inclined to leave her. Although she was great at killing zombies and seemed to be a natural soldier, he didn’t like the idea of taking a teenager. It was Jackson who finally convinced him to let the girl join them on the mission.
> SSgt Brown, Jackson, Kerry and Theresa leapt quietly out of the boat. The four were standing on the North side of Highway 90 on the east bank of the Escatawpa River. Jackson led them to the road. After kneeling quietly on the side of the road for a few moments, he and SSgt Brown decided which vehicle they would use, a black Dodge truck with a light bar on top.
The plan was actually pretty simple. The four would commandeer a vehicle from the dozens parked on the highway. They would then spend the next hour or two slowly coasting around, attracting zombies as they went. After the hoard of zombies was large enough, they would lead the zombies onto the bridge.
Once there, the team would jump into the water where Sgt Procell and Sam would be waiting in the boat. The bad guys would be caught between the guns on the island and the newly arrived hoard of zombies. SSgt Brown actually felt bad for the guys on the bridge.
Two hours later, SSgt Brown had decided the hoard of zombies had grown to an appropriate size. In Kerry’s opinion it was overkill. She’d been in the back of the truck and counted more than 50 zombies.
Jackson slowly pulled the truck onto the bridge. He was amazed that the bad guys hadn’t posted any security on this end. He and SSgt Brown had been prepared to shoot their way onto the bridge. This was turning out to be too easy.
Raul heard the low hum of the running vehicle long before he saw it. At first he didn’t think anything of it. Then he remembered that no one should be on that end of the bridge. He cocked his head from side to side, trying to decide if the sound was near or far. He looked to the sky. The tiny sliver of a moon seemed to mock him as he silently begged for more light.
The low hum of the engine grew ever-so-slightly more distinct. It was definitely getting closer. But, why? Who was it? Everyone was here. The madman, Ender, had emptied out the church. The two dead girls, his two girls, were holding vigil over the empty structure. He had told them that they could have the island and all of the women on it. The men had flocked to him. So, who was it slowly creeping towards him?
Suddenly, he was blinded by the extremely bright lights of the pickup. He raised his rifle and tried to aim at the oncoming vehicle. His eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. He couldn’t even see the sights of his rifle. Shit! He pulled the trigger several times, sending several wild shots toward the blinding whiteness.
The lights slowly drifted to the right. As they did, he was able to see again. First, he saw a big black truck. Then he noticed the driver’s door was open. That was strange. Why was the door open?
Others had started shooting at the truck. Bullets whizzed by his head as the idiots behind him fired. He instinctively dropped to the ground. The truck struck the concrete barricade and ground to a halt. Raul lay fifteen feet away from the still running truck.
He stood tentatively. His ears wrung from the sharp cracks of his own rifle. He inched forward. He reached the truck at the same time two other men did. It was empty.
The sound of a boat engine revving below the bridge cut their search short. The trio ran to the side of the bridge. They could see wake created by the speeding boat. Raul raised his rifle. He couldn’t see the boat, but he had an idea where the boat was.
Suddenly something cold grabbed his left arm. The blood drained from his face when he turned to see the gaping maw of a zombie inches away. He managed only the slightest of screams before teeth clenched around his throat.
He tried to shove the ghoul off, but had no leverage. He couldn’t even get a hand on the beast. He dropped to the ground and tried to roll as he did. By this time the zombie had both arms around its victim, there was no hope. The thought of a young blond woman, arms stretched out to her side, her lungs stretched behind her back was the last thought that passed through his mind. It was his masterpiece. He felt sad that he wouldn’t get to see her again.
Terrance leaned closer to the sailor manning the machinegun. “Wait,” he whispered. The two men watched as several men leapt from the top of the gate. They were seeking refuge from the hoard of undead. Fear had clouded their judgment. They had forgotten that danger lurked on both sides of the gate.
“As long as they’re still shooting on that side, don’t engage. Let’s wait until they’re all on this side.”
The sailor looked at him with a wicked smile. “It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel,” the man chuckled. The two men standing on the other side of Terrance looked at him nervously. He smiled confidently at them and held a hand up. Wait a little longer.
As the shooting tapered off, the four men could hear screaming, lots of it. Terrance wished he could feel sorry for his enemies. He wanted to show them compassion. That thought was quickly followed by the image of young Harold’s disembodied head. The look of surprise on his face sent a shiver down his spine. It also served to rekindle the fire in his heart. Fuck ‘em, he thought.
“Light ‘em up!” he ordered. The machine to his left began to sing a tune of vengeance. Every bullet fired was a drumbeat of justice ringing loudly in Terrance’s ear, beating in his chest. Oh how he missed this. How he missed making the wicked pay for their evils for plotting harm to his countrymen.
Something awoke in the man as the tracers arched towards the helpless bikers. A fire had been lit. He could hear the phrase as the glowing bullets tumbled and ricocheted off the ground near the doomed. That phrase was The United States of America.
This land didn’t belong to men like the ones dying before his eyes. It belonged to people like him, and SSgt Brown. It was a land for people like Jen and Indira who risk it all to help those in need. This land belongs to people like Harold and Jackson who put others ahead of themselves.
Most of all, it belonged to the living. It didn’t belong to the dead. And the fight to take it back was going to start right here. This would be the day when everything that is good about America would begin to come back.
The sound of firing stopped as suddenly as it started. Nothing moved between the muzzle of the machinegun and old gate. Several people could be heard moaning, but they couldn’t see anyone moving.
“Cover me,” he ordered as he hopped over the flat bed of the truck. He strode towards the downed men. He hoped no one noticed that he had unsheathed his knife. When he reached the first man, he knelt next to him. Several bullets had torn a trail of blood across the man’s chest. He wasn’t breathing. Terrance moved on.
The second man was also dead. Not only had he been struck in the abdomen and chest, but he had also lost most of his head to a bullet that struck him just to the left of his nose. Terrance’s gaze hovered over the pink and grey brains splattered across the ground behind the man.
As he approached him, Terrance could see that the third man was not dead. Blood stained the front of his denim jacket and jeans. The pool under his back was large and still growing. It wouldn’t be long, the ex-Green Beret thought. The man tried to speak but only bloody spit came out of his mouth. The scar on the skinny man’s face had lost almost all of its color. It was only a pale line on an even more pale face. His eyes pleaded with the old black man. Please, they begged. Please don’t let me die.
Terrance knelt next to the man. From afar he looked like a priest giving absolution to the dying. Looks, however, can be deceiving. He placed the knife next to the man’s throat as he leaned closer. His mouth was next to the man’s ear.
“You thought you were going to come here and take this land away from us didn’t you?” he whispered. His voice was filled with vile hatred. “You thought we were weak. You thought you could intimidate us.” The man’s eyes were wide with fear. He tried to speak; again nothing but blood.
Terrance pointed to the one of the light poles on the side of the bridge. “Do you see that light pole? There’s another one that looks just like it on the far end of the bridge.” He paused as the man coughed up more blood. The man’s eyes were wide with terror. “I’m going to hang your dead body from it.”
The man closed his eyes and let out a low moan. Tears began to drain from the corners of hi
s eyes.
“Don’t cry,” Terrance told him. “It’ll be a good thing. You’ll serve to warn the rest of the murderers, rapist, and thieves out there not to mess with anyone on this island. Your dead body will inevitably save some poor dumb schmuck’s life.”
His grin widened as he slid the point of the knife into the man’s neck. The man clawed at Terrance’s hand, weakly. His feet kicked a few times before he attempted to draw his last breath. Terrance wiped the blood from his blade onto the man’s denim jacket and stood.
The other six men had all expired by the time Terrance reached them. He climbed onto the shipping container that served to block the lane-and-a-half on the right. Below him was a scene straight out of his most recent nightmares.
There must have been 50 zombies close to the gate. Most were within 50 feet of the gate. They were clumped in little groups. It took him a moment to realize that the little groups each represented a recently fallen survivor. No, he corrected himself. They represented a dead bad guy. And there were a lot of dead bad guys. Fuck ‘em. He looked forward to the chance to kill them again.
He was satisfied to see the other three men jogging towards him. He had just retaken the first 200 yards of American soil back. He had absolutely no plans on stopping anytime soon.
Day 44
The Island
Kerry stopped as she passed the cross. There were three people kneeling in front of it. One young lady was placing a shirt around the base. It was obvious that she hadn’t been the only mourner adding to the little memorial. The number of items placed on the cross had exploded. There were so many items that people had been forced to lay them at the foot of the cross.
Kerry realized she couldn’t see her uncle’s lighter. Anger welled inside of her when she realized it had been covered. She reached past the young woman, grabbing the lighter out from under the shirt she had yet to release. “Hey,” the woman protested. Kerry didn’t recognize the woman. She must have come in with the last batch. The woman started to stand.
