Legacy of the Living

by Sean Liebling

  "We are on the same page, Sirens leader," he chuckled.

  "Call me Alethea. See you shortly. Out here," and the radio went silent again.

  They arrived in less than an hour and the Reaper was impressed as their leader entered. A tall, stocky redhead with short hair, wearing leathers, walked into the midst of the children with over twenty adults behind her. All were wearing leathers. She immediately called Chet, the leader of the kids over and started telling him how it was going to be. Chet started to argue until Alethea threw him down and knelt in the center of his back while pulling his head up by one ear, and explained to him who was now in charge of his little group of savages.

  The Reaper then felt someone touch his arm timidly. It was Dane, and the look on Dane's face was serious as he held out his hand.

  "Sir, I never had the chance to shake your hand earlier but I would consider it an honor to do so now. I was scared to ask also, and going through some personal issues. Would you shake my hand, Reaper?" And yes, Dane did look scared the Reaper would refuse, but Jason just nodded and gripped his hand hard.

  "The honor is mine, Dane, if you'll do right by these kids, as we can't. The Lord has unfinished business for us."

  "I understand Reaper, and I not only wish you luck but the Lord's blessings upon you," Dane replied solemnly, and the Reaper grimaced.

  "Just keep up the good work. Or you'll be hearing from me," he growled, and then slapped Dane on the shoulder.

  *****

  Chapter 11

  DAY 10: 1700 ET SUNDAY NOVEMBER 13TH

  Josh, Pete, and the few other leaders of the group had sat down with Samuel after his arrival to discuss the air units spotted on the previous two days, and whom they might be. Samuel had turned out to be an information asset of incredible proportions concerning the zombie apocalypse, its origins, and end designs. The women were still in shock over the revelations, but little concerning hidden branches of the government and abuse of power surprised Josh and Pete anymore. The next day they put their plan into action.

  Josh ran for cover as the helicopter hovered overhead for a landing. Earlier that morning, as agreed, they had laid out a huge ‘HELP’ sign in the vacant field behind the salvage yard. Josh, Pete, and a few of the women who were great shots laid down cover fire while James used the bulldozer to scrape the huge sign in the field. That was the idea they had come up with this morning after a heated debate on how to create it. Suggestions ran from using paint they didn't have, to trying to light it on fire with gasoline, to lining up scores of smashed cars. In the end, Josh decided to use the simplest method and one nobody had suggested yet: carve huge letters in a field of tall grass and weeds with a ‘dozer. It had worked, of course.

  Instead of laying out a landing field with flares, which none of them had any idea how to actually do, they had simply scraped flat a large, circular section of field near the back entrance to the salvage yard. Then they’d waited for signs of a helicopter in the distance, with Josh holding their one and only flare pistol with its three rounds. It wasn't until an hour before nightfall that a helicopter was spotted in the distance, headed from north to south, and Josh had instantly sprinted to the cleared landing area and fired a flare overhead, watching as it arced hundreds of feet overhead before falling downward. A second flare followed the first, then minutes later the helicopter was overhead.

  "Remember the questions, Pete, and remember what we promised Samuel!" Josh shouted at his friend as they both crouched behind a wrecked car near the landing field.

  "I won't. You watch your mouth too, man!" was the return reply.

  The helicopter flared out and landed with a soft thump. Immediately, if not just before it touched down, six camouflage-clad and armed men leaped from the open side doors of the Black Hawk and took up a defensive ring around the craft.

  Slowly Josh stood with arms raised high overhead, holding white t-shirts in both hands while slowly moving toward the helicopter in baby steps. The t-shirts were the only thing they had that were white anymore, and he winced as he saw two weapons suddenly pointed at him. For a split second, he felt like shouting 'I come in peace' but refrained, afraid they might shoot him just for being stupid.

  The Army soldiers were wearing boonie hats and microphones. Josh assumed they were standard field VOX gear, or voice activated wireless field headsets, and he could tell one of the men was communicating with someone while watching him approach slowly. It was hard to hear anything over the pitch of the blades, as the helicopter kept rotor speed up enough for an instant take-off, or so Josh assumed.

  "Hold it there!" the man who had been communicating on his headset shouted at Josh as he held a hand up. Josh noticed the M4 carbine pistol held in his other hand never wavered from his chest, and he instantly complied.

  In seconds, the other soldier and another that came around the nose of the helicopter had searched him thoroughly, then frog-marched him to the open side door of the helicopter. There a staff sergeant watched him from behind an M134 Gatling gun, which was also trained on his chest. Wow, I never realized I was so dangerous, thought Josh.

  "You can call your partner over slowly. This baby here will shoot right through the side of that heap of junk he's hiding behind," the staff sergeant behind the gun called to him. Josh turned and saw his buddy Pete peering over the hood of the wreck, watching them. Josh quickly waved him over and signaled for him to approach with caution. As Pete walked up slowly, Josh turned back to see the staff sergeant had moved from behind the lethal mounted weapon and was holding out two headsets. Josh donned one while he waited for Pete to be searched, then was able to hand him the other. He immediately heard voices talking over the air.

  "Movement on top of the wall." "Weapons trained on us, some possibly military." "Looks like a bunch of women and almost no men." "About what we figured, right as rain these little survivor groups." Then they all cut off and another voice came over the channel. He realized it was the staff sergeant, who was looking at him curiously.

  "I switched you two over to a different channel so we can talk. Who are you? Military? If so, what unit, and where's the rest of them?"

  "Corporal Josh Ederer, First Marine Division out of Camp Pendleton, and this is Lance Corporal Pete Herkenham, same company as me." Josh was the first to speak, and then Pete got his two cents in.

  "We were here on leave when all this shit happened. No way to get back to our old unit and honestly not sure we want to. We have people to protect here and could use some help. Who are you guys?"

  "I'm Staff Sergeant Carl Frees of the 162nd SOAR with some 9th SF thrown in. Detached elements of both. Major Robinson, Commanding Officer. How many survivors do you have here?"

  "Well over a hundred now, but I don't think we'll get any more. We're getting too many zombies out of Detroit. We're too close and it's getting hard to get food out of town because they’re all channeling through it from the freeway," Josh responded, then continued. "Listen, Staff Sergeant, if you guys don't shut that helicopter off soon, all those zombies we just mentioned will be all over us like stink on shit. It's too loud."

  The other man looked at him then silently as if weighing something in his mind, and seemed to come to a decision. Lifting his hand to his ear, he did something, switched frequencies, Josh assumed again, and spoke for a minute before turning back to Josh.

  "You have a space big enough for my bird in there?" He nodded at the salvage yard.

  "If your pilot is any good, sure. The central yard is a hundred feet square and we keep it clear except for people moving around," Josh responded. For the first time the man smiled, then laughed.

  "Plenty of room for my bird, especially with Chief Warrant Hot Sauce Guerra driving. Climb in and hold on, we're lifting. We'll assess your group and figure out what to do."

  Josh needed no further urging as he and Pete instantly climbed into the back, assisted by another aircrew wearing sergeant's stripes.

  "Oh, meet Vonn, my other aircrew chief," the staff sergeant calle
d out, and then they were lifting as the four soldiers on defense all leaped in. Vonn nodded at Josh and then Pete before going back to manning a twin to the M134 Frees was suddenly behind again.

  In minutes they were inside the yard, and the helicopter had quickly cycled its engines down. Josh signaled and a case of ice-cold Pepsi was brought out for the Army men. Frees looked in the cooler, then back up at Josh and smiled while asking, "You got any cold beer?"

  Josh smiled back and made a second signal and another ice chest was brought out, this one containing Michelob in the bottle. Everyone grabbed one but the pilot, who snagged a Pepsi and began wandering around the salvage yard. Some of the other soldiers were doing the same while talking to many of the refugees. Josh figured they were double-checking to be sure they weren't some radical fringe group in the middle of Zombie Swarm City, and just relaxed, talking with Frees and Vonn while sipping his beer.

  Their story came out as they talked; the betrayal, most of their officers being murdered, and having to relocate to Jackson County Airport temporarily. Josh excused himself and went to where Samuel was hiding with his family and filled him in quickly. Samuel nodded and whispered to Laura briefly. Within a minute she nodded also.

  "Alright Josh, take me to them. I hope we can trust them."

  "Sounds like it, Doctor. Let's go, they have to leave soon." Josh headed back to the helicopter and its crew while towing Samuel along.

  In no time after Samuels's introduction, then story, there was major excitement in the group. Frees set up an encrypted satellite uplink to the aircrew's temporary headquarters in Jackson. It was agreed that Samuel and his family needed to get to Jackson that night, and that the entire group of survivors from Howell would be airlifted there as well in the morning. Their command was also interested in the fact that Josh was related to Newaygo's Colonel Scarmon.

  A short while later, Samuel and Laura hugged Josh and Pete, murmuring last words of thanks, then gathered up their girls and boarded the helicopter. Josh waved as they departed, then turned and began shouting orders. They only had a few hours in which to gather together their supplies and finally, things were looking up.

  *****

  DAY 10: 1800 ET SUNDAY NOVEMBER 13TH

  Brad smiled happily as they pulled in with their second load of supplies that afternoon. It had been a great day so far, with more survivors coming in and four massive loads of supplies appropriated from the bigger supermarket chains. The timber mulchers were devastating on zombies for sure, but they did have one drawback that had almost cost Brad his life yesterday. While the tires on them were huge, and the shredding blade turned zombies into blood and bone puree, if the resultant sludge became too thick, like slick mud, then the tires would simply spin in place. Brad had encountered a large group of the bastards yesterday, totaling almost a thousand, and within minutes was stuck. Well, not stuck exactly, as the timber mulcher was so heavy it would eventually sink down and regain traction, but stuck enough that the undead things swarmed his cab to the point it was hard to see out. They were like locusts and clung to and climbed onto every surface.

  When he had originally tested the machine on smaller groups of zombies, they’d made the decision to grab another as the timber company had six of them in their yard. Thank God, as Brad was able to radio Rick who sent the second one to his rescue. The men and women in the back of the garbage trailer had been fairly well protected; it was his own skin he had been worried about, and the thought of dying without seeing his wife and son again had been horrible.

  Through trial and error they’d learned the best offense against large groups of the zombies was to run two mulchers as attackers and the third was used to tow the walled trailer. This had proven to be extremely effective, and their standard operating procedure by the end of day two. The decoy shredders would mow into them, then back up and race off, circling around to take another bite as the confused zombies would chase first one, then another in their attempts at living food.

  That morning, their entire community had listened to the 1300 AM broadcast of the sermon and ceremony from Newaygo. It had been touching and Brad doubted there had been a dry eye in the house. His own Roxanne had buried her face in her hands through the eulogy for all those lost in that big zombie battle in Newaygo. So few people were left, and to lose so many was heart wrenching. Afterwards, Rick said they would soon hold a meeting to determine whether to contact Newaygo. Popular opinion was to do so because everyone knew things would only get tougher as time went on. More and more zombies were appearing from the major urban centers, and that fact was heavy on everyone's mind.

  "Hey Rick! How many came in today?" Brad asked as he climbed down from the mulcher. Every day now, and sometimes several times a day, he’d ask Rick this question. Now that they were on the CB almost continuously, survivors were coming in crazy fast.

  "Another thirty-eight while you were out. At this rate we'll go over two hundred by the end of the day!"

  "Wow! Amazing."

  "Not so amazing. People are hiding out everywhere: homes, offices, retreats. Our hunting groups found quite a few more children hiding out where their parents hid them. I would be willing to bet we'll be over five hundred by the end of this coming week."

  "Wow!"

  "You do realize you say wow a lot, right Brad?" Rick joked, but it was old news. Wow was Brad’s thing. He always said it when surprised, amazed, or impressed.

  "Yeah man, but it beats saying 'no shit' ‘cause Roxanne's death on me swearing now that little Patrick is here."

  "I get it, Brad. Okay, I'll have the crews unload this. Supplies are looking awesome. We’ll have plenty for the winter and after. Keep it up, man."

  "Will do, we barely dented Wal-Mart. That baby's going to take weeks to strip."

  "Gotta love big box stores," and Rick laughed as he clapped Brad on the shoulder, then ran off to find an available crew.

  *****

  DAY 10: 2100 ET SUNDAY NOVEMBER 13TH

  Sergeant Derrick Hunter flattened as he sensed movement ahead of their position. He’d actually heard nothing other than the slight breeze through the trees and small forest creatures moving through the underbrush, yet he knew something deadly was there. His sensing was almost supernatural; throughout his career he’d always known when they were approaching enemy forces, or when those same forces were approaching him and his men.

  His hand had automatically reached for his tac button and he pushed it twice, which meant to hold in place and freeze. Then, moving his head almost microscopically slow, he looked over his shoulder at Corporal Huggins and blinked once, then paused before blinking once again. Huggins was wearing NVGs, night vision goggles. Derrick hated the things because they limited his ability to sense his surroundings, but he knew Tim would see his eyes, and they had been working this code for several years. The one-blink code meant he sensed something ahead, the second single blink meant it was human.

  Hunter adjusted his Ghillie suit and blended, becoming one with the foliage and surrounding trees and brush. He moved forward at a snail's pace until he was about fifty yards ahead of the others, then froze. Movement was coming from ahead; he could now see it as his eyes had totally adjusted to the gloom of the nighttime forest. Having no streetlights to interfere with his vision helped tremendously, and the docs had always told him his night vision was well above average. Perhaps that was why he hated the NVGs.

  Muffled clinking came to his ears from ahead and he tensed, sliding his M4 carbine forward and clicking his tac button rapidly three times. That indicated impending trouble. Tilting his head slightly as he lay flattened on the ground, he caught the outlines of six figures with bulky objects over their faces, all carrying backpacks while holding obvious weapons. Orders were very clear. Take out any armed infiltrators moving in the night with the caveat that prisoners were unwelcome. He clicked the tac button once, then again after a slight pause to indicate something ahead, attacking it in five seconds. Two clicks at the end would have indicated ten seconds
. His M4 was already off safe and he eased it forward another few inches under its own Ghillie covering, preparing to fire. Behind him, he heard the movement of his men, and the column he was facing paused while starting to crouch.

  It was time to rock and roll, and he opened fire, taking out the last two in the column before rolling sideways to place himself behind the trunk of a large tree. The muzzle flashes had destroyed his night vision and immediately he turned the flashlight on his carbine as he rolled around the far side of the bole to fire on those infiltrators that had taken cover near his position. There, a boot, and he put two rounds through it, then another three through the chest of the man, screaming as he fell away from the tree he had been hiding behind.

  Then his men were there, firing into the figures; it was a mop up at that point. As the firing died down and he rose from his crouch, the flashlights came on. His men fanned out left and right, keeping a watchful eye for zombies as he approached the fallen figures and went through their gear. Shaking his head at what he found, he keyed his Tactical Microphone live.

  "Come in Command. Team Four here."

  "Command here. Go ahead Four." The sweet soprano of Corporal Rider instantly rang in his ears.

  "I have six hostiles down. Black suited like the others. No IDs. Long-range rifles and explosives. NVGs and other assorted gear."

  "Mark the spot and continue your recon, Team Four, we'll strip them in the morning."

  Sergeant Hunter grinned at her words. The lack of concern or even mention of any prisoners was telling, and an indication Command neither expected nor wanted any. He chuckled softly while making a mark on his map in grease pencil, then waved at his men to douse all lights. They would continue backtracking this trail once their night vision was restored. They had all night, and the start of it had been good.