Legacy of the Living

by Sean Liebling

Robinson hated the shithole his two companies had been assigned to: Detroit FEMA Station, McNamara Airport. What a waste of precious resources. Even in the middle of a biological outbreak of apocalyptic proportions, the losers who lived here were still shooting at each other too much, and not enough at these creatures. Four of his men had gone to Sickbay with minor gunshot wounds over that bullshit. Actually, those men were supposed to be in Sickbay but after being patched up, took their leave quickly. No one wanted to be around the sick and dying because you just knew what the outcome would be. Regulations were very clear on walking wounded in today's Army, but if the Officers under him were able to ignore fresh bandages, he could do no less.

  The major glanced at his watch again and continued swearing. A short, stocky redhead in his mid-30's, he had seen more than his share of fuckups and each one made him think twice as each re-up came along. The CH-47 Chinook due to pick them up was late. Radio contact had it five minutes out more than twenty minutes ago, and his radioman was unable to contact them now. The supply point for survivors refusing to come into the camps had been stocked and his men had spent the last two hours distributing needed supplies to everyone from little old ladies to gang bangers, after taking down all the undead in their vicinity.

  There, he could hear them over the sporadic small arms fire coming from his troops. He squawked the tac net twice to get everyone's attention, rotated his arm over his head in a 'Rally Point' signal, then waited as his men came at a run and the bird overhead started descending. Doing a quick head count, he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as all were accounted for. Forty-two men in the platoon he’d taken out this afternoon. Barely enough to hold their own against the fuckers, but plenty of ammunition on their side had been the key survival factor. He waited impatiently as the Chinook rotated ass towards them and settled with its rear wheels hitting first, then the front two grounding. Instantly the pitch changed in the rotors as they cycled to standby ready and the rear hatch started opening.

  "Come on men. Get a move on. One more supply mission before this day is over!" Robinson shouted at his men, who needed no encouragement to board the lozenge-shaped helicopter. He slung his M4 behind his back as he jogged along with the others boarding the craft. He immediately noticed a tall, silver-haired individual wearing the flight suit, pilot’s wings and the silver oak leaf of a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army Air wing, waiting for him.

  "It's good you and the forty-two men you took out are alright, Major." Lieutenant Colonel Seabrook was a tall, lean man with a stern expression yet a charming demeanor. The man was on the ball 24/7. A rock-solid officer, with a memory like a steel trap.

  "Yes Sir. One more distribution to go before night patrols. Nice seeing you Sir, but what's the occasion?"

  "You, Major, are never one to beat around the bush. I like that." The colonel laughed with brief mirth and they settled into the side hammocks as the bird lifted with a roar of increased rotor pitch and rpm.

  "I'll beat around the bush when this is all over, Sir. Somehow I don't think it ever will be."

  The Lieutenant Colonel’s eyes suddenly hooded over and he simply nodded. Robinson was tired, angry and worried. He decided to take a chance and speak his mind.

  "Sir. What the hell is going on? Nothing is right about this place or what's been happening. Ninety-five percent of the population dead and most turned into these ... things! Command is all fucked up but given how few survived, I would have thought orders would make better sense. Nothing makes sense. We are sitting on top of over three million of these creatures, instead of evacuating the fuck outa here with the survivors." Robinson temporarily ran out of steam and just gazed helplessly at the colonel, who watched him with a pensive look in his eyes.

  "Robinson. I'm going to tell you what I know, and it doesn't look good at all." The Lieutenant Colonel sighed and ran a long-fingered hand through his short-cropped silver hair, then looked at him again while leaning close. "We started losing communications with other elements this morning. Other FEMA camps also. Upper Command is indicating normalcy. Bullshit on normal, Major. You’re right, nothing is normal. Some of those we lost contact with I communicate with several times a day. There is a communications blackout below our belt of operations, and that I don't like at all." The colonel paused and the major picked it up again.

  "Sir. Another thing the men don't like, and neither do I. Healthy survivors going into the inspection tents, then a day later more outbreaks of the creatures in Tent City Hell. Something's going on, something's changing them. We're all noticing it." The Lieutenant Colonel waved him to silence and he subsided.

  "I know, Major. DHS is saying nothing about these new outbreaks among healthy refugees. I don't like that." He paused, looking off into the distance of his mind before continuing. "Just be prepared for anything, Major. You, and your men. I do not know what in hell is going on, so just stay sharp."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  They finally arrived at the staging point of McNamara runway four, and the slight thump as the helicopter landed was felt, immediately followed by the rear ramp descending again. Major Robinson walked beside Lieutenant Colonel Seabrook to the tail, then turned, watching as his platoon walked down. One more mission today, then night patrols. Afghanistan was better than this shit. It was all they could do to keep the creatures at bay day after day when the fuckers were most active. He turned again, remembering he wanted to ask the colonel something.

  "Colonel!" he shouted. Lieutenant Colonel Seabrook stopped and turned from thirty feet away.

  Almost simultaneously, a sharp whippet came from slightly to his left. The telltale sound of a supersonic round passing too close was followed by a spot appearing in the center of the colonel’s forehead. Seabrook collapsed, and Major Robinson screamed at his men as he rolled on the ground, coming up behind the rear landing gear of the Chinook.

  "Incoming! Get down." His M4 was up, Aimpoint looking around for possible targets. Nothing but fields from the direction the fire had come from, and a ten-foot chain link fence packed with the creatures. Another round came in, clipping the landing gear above his head, but he caught the flash. Four hundred yards out maybe; he frowned at that. Rolling over on his back, he signaled Sergeant Bufford, a team sniper, and pointed. The man already had his rifle unlimbered and had been scanning the surrounding area. Buford nodded and went still with rifle steady and pointed in the direction the shots had come from. Robinson grinned while hiding behind the large tire, and lifting his helmet off, he stuck it on the muzzle of his M4, raising it slightly above the tire he crouched behind.

  Almost immediately Bufford fired, and then fired again. Major Robinson placed his helmet on again and waited while watching Bufford. A minute later Buford gave the ‘all clear for now’ signal, and the major was up shouting orders and sending a squad to investigate. He tried the tactical net but only the pilots were online, and a chief warrant officer who said the control tower was down. What the fuck is going on, and what the fuck did that mean exactly? He was watching his men running back, carrying two obviously dead black-clad figures, when the control tower in the distance exploded in a bright flash of actinic light.

  *****

  Sergeant Vonn Dominic swore angrily as rounds passed through the fuselage of his bird. His hand reached out, grabbing the coat collar of another child, yanking him into the Black Hawk as his left hand depressed the toggle, firing his M134 at two-thousand rounds per minute at the construction equipment near the fence line. The chief was handing them up to him as they desperately speed loaded the refugees. The shit had truly hit the fan and it was coming apart around them. Refugees were swarming around the Assault helicopter trying to get in. Staff Frees was behind him operating the other gun mount while helping others board. They already had their dozen loaded, and were adding a few more children. Overweight sure, but you did what needed doing.

  Somehow, for whatever reason, their own forces or other forces were firing on them, taking out pilots and officers. Fucking shit was coming down h
ard. The fence was down and the diseased creatures were swarming the camp. Refugees were being loaded onto as many aircraft as had pilots, and in some cases crew chiefs were operating the controls. Most of the refugees had been loaded and there were only a few remaining, mostly aircrew helping others, when Vonn saw them disappear under a wave of the undead things that suddenly swarmed the aircraft.

  "Get us in the air! Turn and burn, Goddamnit Sir!" Vonn screamed into his microphone as the zombies hit the west edge of refugees trying to get on other craft. The rotors were turning too slowly. A turn and burn was a bypass of all safety regulations and very damaging to the engines, but shaved precious minutes off the preflight. Fuck the avionics. They could warm up in the air. Right now, they needed to get airborne. Time had run out and the bastards were upon them. The jet engines screamed as the influx of oxygen-enriched JP-8, forced beyond normal limits, flooded their turbines and Vonn could see the tarmac light up beside them as flames shot from both exhaust ports.

  "Turning and burning Chief, hold on. Forty-five percent on power."

  "Now now now Sir!" Vonn screamed back as he fending off the grasping undead hands reaching in through the open side door with one hand, his other firing nonstop, sweeping back and forth into the crowd of insane monsters. He witnessed the co-pilot, Chief Warrant Officer-2 Jeffries being dragged down under the horde of undead as wave after wave hit the birds. They were never ending, and the Black Hawk rocked backward a dozen feet as a herd of them hit it from the front, pushing it back on its wheels. Vonn slammed the cargo door closed at the brief respite from grasping hands. The bird was fully packed and then some, with refugees. All women and children, mostly children. Screaming filled his ears and the smell of urine, hot steel and engine exhaust permeated the air. The refugees were pressed up against his back and he could feel their shaking bodies, filled with terror. Fuck, he was scared too. Why weren't they in the air yet?

  Hundreds hit the side of the craft this time and it tipped off its side wheels before the helicopter settled back down again.

  "Sir. Get our ass off the ground or we're dead!"

  "Sixty percent, Crew Chief. Lifting now, so hold on tight and pray," shouted back the pilot. If anything, the engines roared even louder, a sound Vonn had heard only a few times in his life as the pilot gave it everything it had. The rotor pitch changed, taking on an angry buzzing sound, and the helicopter lifted, hopping a short distance before settling back down and rolling forward at a pretty good clip, throwing the undead creatures to the side. Again, they lifted and bounced before the pilot was able to get them airborne. The wail of scared refugees behind him rang louder in his ears than the M134 on full-cycle automatic. Then they were airborne and curving gently to port as the Black Hawk gained altitude. Vonn gazed through the Lexan windows seeing other aircraft lifting and circling as their altitude increased.

  "Chief Jeffries bought it, Sir."

  "I saw, Vonn," the pilot answered with a choke in his voice. "Turning on Avionics now, warming up. I need visuals. Open the doors and let me know if I'm getting too close to anyone."

  Sergeant Vonn Dominic quickly fastened the cargo netting to the side, hemming in the refugees, and slid the starboard hatch open halfway. He did not want to lose anyone at this point and the survivors were already pressed against his back. He figured they had at least twenty onboard, which was very overloaded. Looking out over the congested airspace, he saw other Black Hawks and Chinooks rising slowly around them. The closest bird was a hundred feet away angling to the north as they headed west, so he said nothing, just watched.

  "Holy Christ. Air assets and not ours. Pay attention Vonn. Oh my God! We're being lit up with targeting. IFF is transmitting. No effect!" The pilot was screaming mayday into his microphone as Vonn's heart froze in his chest. In the distance, he could see what looked like two F-15s arrowing in on their flotilla of rising helicopters. A missile trail from the lead F-15 led to the destruction of a Black Hawk, then another, and the F-15 turned towards them. Vonn's eyes widened and he kicked the door fully open with his right boot. He had just changed the can, and knew he had exactly three thousand rounds.

  Mashing the right toggle down, he threw four-thousand rounds per minute in the jet’s direction, desperately trying to lead the fire in for a hit. With a remote, almost surreal sense of impending doom, he saw the anti-missile flares and chaff shoot from the side of his bird. It was too close, and only seconds had passed. Before his eyes, he saw a missile drop from the starboard pylon of the F-15, and his aim instantly switched as he attempted to target the missile he knew was already armed and targeted on them. The screaming behind him was intense as his shoulders hunched, his gaze narrowing, and he swiveled the Minigun in a short arc, spraying and praying.

  An intense explosion lit the heavens beside them as the missile blew from a lucky hit, taking out the F-15 with it. Vonn covered the plastic shield of his flight helmet with his left hand as his vision was overloaded for a brief moment at the cascading explosions. A few seconds passed.

  "Thank you, Vonn," he heard the pilot breathing in his ear in relief.

  "You're welcome. Sir. Where's the other target?"

  "Turning away, Vonn. Two Little Birds giving chase."

  "Thank God for small favors, Chief. Just what the fuck happened?"

  "Insurrection, Sergeant, and we're in the middle of it."

  "Fuck me to tears." Vonn started shaking from relief at being alive and the intensity of the past few minutes. Fuck 'em up Little Birds, he whispered to himself.

  *****

  Sergeant Vonn Dominic remembered those first few days of the Insurrection, as they were calling it, with vivid clarity. They had relocated to the Jackson County Airport as a temporary measure. F-15s from the rogue government had attacked twice over the following day. The Ranger boys with their Stingers had put them down on both occasions. It had been too close. Split second decisions had been made, and it was decided to relocate, or stay in the North, as these creatures were adverse to the cold climate. The Chinooks had gone back for their dependents at Fort Campbell Kentucky with a Blackhawk escort, making three roundtrips over the next two days while teaming up with the surviving elements still viable there. They were able to get most out before it was overrun by the creatures, then headed to Fort Hunter in Georgia to get the dependents of the Special Forces Group. That had ended in disaster.

  The rogue government fuckers had nuked Hunter as the refugees were leaving. Less than half of the base dependents escaped on assorted C130s and other cargo craft. The plan had been simple. Relocate to Michigan where the climate was colder. They stood a better chance against the tens of millions of the creatures roaming the countryside. He remembered his bitter tears of anger when they released the news of Fort Hunter's destruction. The commandant had been ordered to surrender to the new government and had refused. Hours later the nuke hit. Word had it the nuke was a tactical so the damage was not as bad as it could have been. Bad enough though. Bad enough that Vonn witnessed a Ranger corporal shove his service Beretta under his chin and blow his brains out upon hearing his wife and children were ashes. Most of the Rangers, though, turned ice cold.

  A deep-seated hate burned within him. Burned within all of them, at the callous disregard this new rogue government showed for the remaining survivors. The Rangers and Air Crew of the 162 SOAR had sworn a blood oath to pay the fuckers back. Old-fashioned maybe, but intent and action were everything. Intent was a given ... action was coming. They were the sharp end. Vengeance was theirs!

  *****

  DAY 9: 1400 ET SATURDAY NOVEMBER 12TH

  I was at loose ends for the moment after my little experiment with Top, and decided to see what my LSS was up too. The CAPC was near us and only took a moment to reach.

  "How's the training going LSS?" I asked as I entered. I saw her hunched over a console next to one of the kids we had rescued with Sam's group. I wished Sam was here in his place, but after Dorothy's death, Sam would only work on the patrols, killing zombies. I let
him be for I knew he had to do what he had to do.

  "Good, Sir, just finishing up. Zeke, take a break. Take your radio and I'll call you when I need you back here."

  "Yes ma'am," the young man replied, and quickly exited the vehicle. I was alone with my LSS, who smiled then turned to her equipment and sat down with her back to me. I blinked, then grinned. So this was how it was going to be again, I thought.

  "You know LSS, I warned you about that whole disrespect thing," I said; she remained silent and did not turn around.

  "I also told you the next time you showed disrespect you would really get it." I waited.

  "Sir, I'm a bit busy right now, could you come back later? I have training schedules to work out," I heard her mutter as I looked over her shoulder and saw she was only doodling on a blank piece of paper. Well that cinched it, I thought.

  "Sure, no problem," I said cheerfully, then opened the hatch and slammed it closed while staying inside. Instantly her head jerked up and she started to turn, but I was already there, gripping her by the hair with my left hand and shoving her face down onto her console gently yet firmly. My right was digging in my pocket for the gag I had brought. Just a wad of cloth but it would do the trick, and I yanked her head back again as her arms flailed and shoved it in her mouth tightly, then pushed her face down harder this time as I caught her wrists.

  I had to be quick because she was stronger than she looked and already trying to get up. I had her wrists now. I pulled a zip tie out of another pocket and set a new world's record for wrist restraining as she started spitting the gag out while trying to holler.

  "Gddmmfr Srrr offffgghhh!" She wasn't making much sense but that was OK with me. This was to teach her a lesson, not to get her to beg for my sausage again. I had come prepared this time though, and slapped a hand across her mouth, pushing the gag back in as I rested a knee on her back, holding her down. Then I pulled the partial roll of duct tape from my cargo pocket and, using my teeth, peeled a strip, then ripped it off. Before she could spit again, I slapped it across her open mouth. Perfect, and wow did her eyes get big at that point. Her head was turned slightly sideways and I could see the look of fear cross her features. I think it was the duct tape that did it, but wasn't sure. I was moving fast and wasn't done.