by Glyn Gardner
Day 46
Highway 90 Pascagoula MS
Jen was in the passenger seat of the HEMMT. She had asked SSgt Brown if she could accompany Jackson on his pickup run of the Little Debbies. She looked at the young trooper. Although he still looked young, he somehow appeared older. Well, she thought, not old. Maybe he was just looking more experienced. His face was beginning to show those fine little wrinkles one gets when one worries too much.
She could certainly understand that. Jackson had taken the lion’s share of being in the lead over the past month-and-a-half. She knew he took the responsibility of that position very seriously. She thought about Mike. Tears began to well up in her eyes again.
She knew he had also taken her husband’s death as a personal failure. The poor kid hadn’t been able to look her in the eye for a week now. She knew just riding in the truck with her was uncomfortable for him. He hadn’t said two words since they had left the gate.
“God Damn it, Jackson,” she began. “That’s enough of this.” She wiped the tear running down her face.
The soldier looked at her with a look of dismay. He didn’t want to talk to her. He’d been the one who had let her husband get bit by a zombie. Why did she want to talk to him? He’d let her down and because of it the most important thing in her life was gone.
“Mrs. Jen,” he meekly croaked. His throat was so dry. “I’m so, so, sorry. I didn’t…”
“Of course you didn’t,” she cut him off. “No one intended for Mike to die.” His expression changed to a look of shock. “Yes, Jackson, he’s dead. It sucks. Every day I miss him. Every day my heart aches for him.” She paused for a moment. “And you,” she said. “I know you blame yourself for his death.”
She placed a hand on his knee. “But, don’t you see? There’s no one to blame. You’ve done such a great job of keeping us all safe for the past month or so. Our luck was bound to run out sometime. It just happened to be Mike that drew the short straw.”
She wiped another tear that was streaking its way down her cheek. “But, if you need it, I’ll give it to you.” She paused for a moment. “Private Jackson, I forgive you. I love you and I forgive you.”
The truck came to a sudden stop. Jackson began to sob uncontrollably. He turned to Jen, who embraced him as a mother embraces a frightened child. He cried unashamedly as she ran her fingers through his coarse hair.
Jackson gradually applied the brakes. The HEMMT lurched to a stop 50 meters from the Little Debbie. Something was wrong. There was a pile of partial bodies surrounding the corrugated steel box. That was to be expected. They had not, however, expected to see twenty or so zombies meandering around the Little Debbie. None were very close, but close enough that they should have been attracted to the live people inside.
Jackson threw his door open. “Wait here,” he ordered. The last two Little Debbies had had people on top of the structures when he and Jen had arrived. He couldn’t believe there was no one on watch. This Erikson guy was going to severely piss him off.
He banged on the side of the container as he approached the double doors on the end. “Wake up slackers,” he yelled. “It’s time to go home. I hear we’re having SPAM for dinner tonight.”
The locking mechanism groaned as the young trooper pulled on the large handle. When it reached the unlocked position, the door burst open, knocking the young black man back. He stumbled a few steps before he finally lost his balance, landing on his butt.
His heart raced and his bladder emptied at the sight in front of him. Ten undead monsters had stumbled out of the Little Debbie and were shambling towards him. The closest one was already almost within arm’s reach.
He quickly threw his legs under his butt and began crab walking away. He could feel the front sight post of his rifle digging into the ground as it was dragged behind him. His attempt to reach his bayonet was futile. Instead his upper body slammed into both the ground and the rifle strapped to his back.
He screamed for help as the small hoard of monsters closed the gap. From where he was, he could not see the HEMMT. He did, however, hear the door slam shut.
He tried again for his bayonet. This time he lunged into a left twist to get his right hip and the bayonet strapped to it off the ground. He continued his roll until he was prone. Another lunge with both legs and he was on his feet moving forward.
He glanced over his shoulder as he did. He wished for a brief second that he hadn’t. Just out of arm’s reach was Erikson’s zombie. The cold pale eyes and grey skin both reached for him.
Suddenly he hit something in front of him, causing him and it to tumble to the ground. Again, he rolled to the left in order to put some distance between himself and the new threat. Arms clasped around his head as he did. They were cold and strong. He tucked his chin and repeated his version of an alligator roll.
As his head slipped from the grasp of the ghoul, he could hear gunshots. Thank God, he thought. He didn’t have time to celebrate. He slid his left hand along the monsters torso until he found the neck. He locked eyes with the zombie an instant before he drove his bayonet into its skull. The body suddenly went limp.
Another gunshot rang out. He spun around and found himself face to face with three of the living corpses. He tried to kick his right leg at one, but it was too close. All he was able to do was get his left hand under the monster’s chin. It was pointless.
Jen screamed as the four bodies tumbled to the ground. She fired round after round into the mass of bodies. She hoped she wouldn’t hit Jackson, but knew deep down inside that she was. She knew she had too.
The young trooper screamed for a moment as both bullets and teeth tore into his flesh. Then, as the zombies above him stopped moving one-by-one; a wave of peace washed over him. The weight on top of him became lighter and lighter. Then, it was as if he could feel a cool ocean breeze cover his entire body. He opened his eyes.
There, above him was the face of an angel. Her pale skin and slightly moon shaped face stared down at him. Behind her the sun shone orange on the clouds. It looked to the dying trooper as if she had bright orange wings and a halo. She had never looked so beautiful.
“Go,” he tried to scream to her. “You can’t stay here.” It was no use. His lungs had no breath, his throat no voice. He was dying. His angel had to leave. She couldn’t save his body. But, she’d done better. She’d freed his soul. He could die in peace, his conscience clean. She had given that to him. But she has to go before…
Tears welled in his eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought. No, I can’t hurt her again. He reached for the rifle in her hands.
She jumped, startled by the sudden movement. Through the tears she watched as the young man grasped the muzzle of her rifle. He pulled the barrel close to his forehead. His breathing became rapid.
“Do it,” he pleaded. “Please do it.” She couldn’t hear him. She didn’t have to.
Tears streaked down her face for the second time that day. Jackson’s hand fell away, lifeless, as the rifle bucked in her hand. She fell to her knees, crying. She cradled his head in her arms; his gore covering her as it drained from his skull.
Later she would realize that she hadn’t tuned out the rest of the world. She hadn’t really forgotten about the zombies still shambling towards her. She would come to realize that at that moment, she was embracing her own death. She would come to believe that at that moment, she stood on the precipice, ready to let go. But, alas, it was not to be.
The Island
Kerry and Theresa burst into the clinic. There they found SSgt Brown and Sgt Procell. Both men were visibly shaken. SSgt Brown paced back and forth, his fists clenching and unclenching. His tears had cut great troughs through the grime on his face. He peered at the two women through bloodshot eyes.
When he saw Theresa, his eyes turned from anger to pain. Why? She thought. Why did he look like that? “What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?” Her voice became shaky as she asked. She knew it was bad. She looked at the collective faces. Finally it daw
ned on her. There were several people missing.
“Who is it?” she pleaded with him. Her eyes welled up with tears. He turned to the door. She took a hesitant step; then another. The big soldier stepped next to her. He pushed the door open.
Theresa’s heart skipped a beat. Indira turned toward the door. Her eyes too were red, her face tear streaked. Her eyes betrayed the pain she felt. She tried to speak. Theresa watched as she opened her mouth several times. No words came out. She finally walked to the girl and hugged her. Why? What has happened? Who was it?
When she stepped out of the way, Theresa could see two bodies lying on the exam tables. One was lying on its side with its back to the door. A blanket pulled tightly over the shoulders. The second body appeared to be lying on its back, also covered with a blanket. A dark stain stood out where the head should be.
The boots, she suddenly thought. The obviously dead body was wearing a pair of combat boots. No! No, she thought. Please don’t let it be him. Her knees suddenly couldn’t bear her weight. She crumpled to the ground, crying uncontrollably.
They helped her into a chair near Jen. The two women cried together. Jen tried to explain to the girl how it had happened. Theresa tried to help Jen forgive herself. In the end, Indira gave each one a sedative and tucked them in, she and Kerry took turns watching over the grieving women.
“What in the hell happened?” Mr. Westergart demanded. “Jesus Christ, it was supposed to be a simple pickup job.”
SSgt Brown’s face was set in a deep scowl. He had made the same inquiry of Jen when she had returned with Jackson’s body. Of course she had been unable to answer him. The poor woman had been catatonic. She was lucky to have driven the HEMMT the ten miles without killing herself
He had sent Sgt Procell and Paulson out to find out what had happened. He had gotten his answer only a few minutes before. “It was the Little Debbie,” he blurted. The older man gave him a quizzical look
“The Little Debbie they were picking up was the one with the giant fans on it, like a flail tank. It was supposed to work like a giant lawn mower. Sgt Procell tells me that the front of the Little Debbie was covered in high speed blood splatter. From what little I got out of Jen and what he found, it looks like the crew was infected by the flying blood.”
He paused. “When Jackson opened the doors to let the crew out, they had turned.” The old NCO had to take a deep breath and swallow the lump in his throat. Jackson had been the last member of his squad to survive the end of the world. He could feel tears begin to fill his eyes.
“Jen said she tried, but all ten burst through the doors as soon as he opened them. The kid never stood a chance.” He couldn’t contain his emotions anymore. He turned away from the older soldier, running his fingers through his hair. Tears drained from his eyes, carving more rivulets through the day’s worth of dirt and grime.
Mr. Westergart placed an arm over his shoulder. He knew the pain the man felt. He’d lost friends in combat. He’d lost students in their trek across Missouri. He’s lost his wife to a rare form of cancer while he was on deployment. He hadn’t even been able to make it home for her funeral. He knew how destructive this pain could be.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the grieving man’s ear. “I know there’s nothing I can say to make it better. I’ve been there.” He paused for a moment. He tried to think of something great to say. He couldn’t. Instead, he hugged the big NCO and mourned his loss. Both men cried.
Day 47
The Island
Theresa woke before Jen that morning. Her head hurt and her arms and legs felt heavy. She could move, but it wasn’t easy. She looked at the older woman. Tears welled in her eyes. She loved her, she knew deep down it was true. But, right now, she wanted to hate her. She had been there. She had been with him when he died. She hadn’t saved him. She’d let him down. She’d let him die!
Soon, she realized that she was no longer thinking about Jen. She hated herself. She hadn’t been there to protect him. Through all this time, she had been right behind him. She had been there for him. She had protected him. But, in the end she had failed him. The tears again streaked down her cheeks.
Kerry watched as the teenager woke. She felt for her. Everyone in their group could tell that there was something special between the young orphan and the young trooper. From the moment the group had rescued her and Simon, she had seen that look in the girl’s eye. It was obvious that Jackson had never realized that the young woman was in love with him.
Oh, the girl would never admit it. Kerry had learned over the month that Theresa came from a very traditional, some might say redneck, southern family. There was no way the girl could ever act on her feelings for the man she viewed as her savior. Plus, the young man was at least six years older than she was. It was moot anyway. Kerry didn’t think the young man would have allowed anything to happen.
She had to fight back a tear. Her chest heaved as she thought about the young man. He had never asked for anything from anyone. He had followed SSgt Brown like, well, like a soldier is supposed to follow his leader. He was resourceful. He never hesitated to be the first one into a dangerous situation. He was truly a hero to many. He would forever be one of her heroes.
Theresa sat up, wiping the tears from her bloodshot eyes. “Oh,” she quietly croaked. Her throat was so dry. “I didn’t know you were here.”
The older woman nodded in the affirmative. “Been here most of the night,” she said.
Jen suddenly sat bolt upright. She looked confused. Her eyes darted wildly from side to side. Her eyes met Theresa’s. Her face suddenly went slack as she realized her most recent memories were not, in-fact, some surreal dream. Tears welled up in the older woman’s eyes again. She couldn’t speak. She just covered her face with her hands and cried. They all cried. Tears fell, chests heaved, and noses ran as the trio dealt with their own grief.
It was Theresa who finally spoke. “Damn it, Miss Jen,” she blurted. “That’s enough. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault, and it sure wasn’t your fault, Kerry. I miss him. I don’t want him gone. But, I don’t have a choice. I didn’t have a choice with Mamma, Daddy, or Davy either. Since this has started, none of us has had a choice.”
She looked to Kerry. “The only thing we can do for the dead is to mourn them. After that we can either choose to curl up and do nothing. Or, we can choose to move on. We can honor their memories and survive. Mike, Davy, Jackson; they all put us first. They took risks so that we could survive.”
Jen heard the words that the girl was saying. She also knew they made sense. When she evoked the name of her dead husband it sent a shock through her. She realized that she hadn’t even thought about Mike since Jackson had died. His death had meant that much. If she could replace the pain of Mike’s death, then she could find something to replace this pain. She had to.
“Where’s the body?” she asked Kerry.
“…Best men I’ve ever had the pleasure of serving with. No mission was too difficult for him.” SSgt Brown looked down as he wiped the little tear from the corner of his eye. He looked back at the small crowd. Aside from the four women and Sgt Procell, Sam and his firemen were present. Several of the boat crews were there also. A group of the River Rats had returned to the Island when their helicopter had broken down. Their all black uniforms caused them to stand out from the rest of the mourners.
“When he found himself in this new world, again, Jackson acted like a true professional. But, it was more than that. He never lost his humanity. Whenever a chance to save another human being arose, Jackson always advocate for the living. He once told me that the only way we can truly survive was to keep our humanity. He lived those words every day. Many of you here owe your lives to the strength of his conviction.”
“Jen,” he looked to her. “I know he would never say it to you, but he blamed himself for Mike’s death.” He looked out to the small sea of faces. “He actually cried himself to sleep almost every night since then. He respected Mike. The tho
ught that he somehow let you and Mike down, troubled him deeply.”
He glanced at the sun, as it crept towards the western horizon. “I know that he loved and cared for each and every one of us deeply. I don’t have the verse, but the bible tells us that greater love hath no man than this: That he lay down his life for his friends. I can tell you; this young man, this soldier, would gladly lay down his life over and over again if he thought he could save just one of you.”
He withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. The handwriting was neat with a little bit of a flourish. It was a woman’s handwriting. He cleared the lump from his throat. “I’ve never been a very good public speaker. In fact, Jackson would have told you I really kind of suck at it. So, today I enlisted the help of a friend.” He nodded a silent thank you to the young redhead.
“The bible has a few verses that I know I’ve heard before, but couldn’t remember. Kerry has been kind enough to act as my spiritual advisor in this matter. Psalm 34:18 tells us: The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. I would have to say that during the last few months, all of us have felt like our spirit has been crushed. We have all wanted to give up at some point. Let not our hearts be troubled.”
He flipped the paper over. “Romans 14:8 tells us: For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s. So, while we are sad that Jackson is gone, he is in a better place. He doesn’t live in fear of becoming a walking corps. He no longer fears that those he loves will fall under the weight of the onslaught of evil. He is at peace. He is in the arms of our Father.”
Tears again flowed from his eyes. He had wanted to say so much more. Jackson deserved so much more. But he couldn’t. He simply snapped to attention and saluted. “God damn it, you deserved the rider-less horse.” He was referring to the tradition of a rider-less horse, riding boots facing backwards in the stirrups accompanying a funeral procession. In the US, the rider-less horse is generally reserved for Army and Marine officers of high rank and presidents.
