Six Feet From Hell: Crisis

by Joseph Coley

  “I hope the Claymores and the other shit weren’t damaged. Those little bastards are …” Joe was interrupted by a dirty, bony, rotten hand grabbing his arm. Before he could make head or tails of what had grabbed him, a nasty set of jagged teeth clamped down on his wrist. The zombie that the teeth belonged to reached forth with its other clawed appendage and grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him down. Joe fell on his ass and dragged the living corpse out through the top of the truck, spilling both onto the pavement. The filthy teeth of the zombie dug further into his arm as Joe raised his right foot to kick the creature. His right boot met with solid contact on its legs, breaking one in half. The creature howled and released its death bite on Joe. Joe reached down with his now-free hand and unholstered his .45. He fired two rounds into the zombie’s head, obliterating it. He fell back in a heap, relieved.

  Before Joe realized what was happening, Cornbread had his shotgun pointed directly at his head. Cornbread had a very worried and fearful look on his face. Joe looked up and pushed the scattergun away from him. “I'm immune, dude. I can’t turn, no matter what.”

  Cornbread looked at his Mossberg, as if it had jumped away against his will. He swung the gun back to Joe’s head. “Look, I've heard the same shit before. People say that they won’t turn, and they all do. Nobody is immune from this shit.” As if to reiterate the point, he racked the shotgun – one handed, again – and aimed. “I can’t let you go back like this.”

  Jamie swiftly grabbed the shotgun away from Cornbread. The big man turned towards him and scowled, and Jamie glared right back. “He's telling the truth. He can’t turn. He's been bitten more than once, trust me,” Jamie said as he offered Joe a hand up. “I can’t turn either. I've been vaccinated.”

  More confused and dirty looks from Cornbread.

  Jamie rolled his eyes. “Jesus, man! Let me guess, you guys haven’t been vaccinated. Have you?”

  Cornbread slowly shook his head no. “What do you mean ‘vaccinated.’ How in the hell is there a vaccine for this shit and we don’t have it? Where do we get it?”

  Joe dusted the snow off him as he stood. He wasn’t surprised that his friends in Tazewell hadn’t had the vaccine for the Romero virus, but he figured that they would have at least heard of it. The Beckley ZBRA unit had some, but apparently not enough. It was odd that they hadn’t told Tazewell of its existence. Another miscommunication that could potentially cost lives. “Yeah, sorry I forgot to mention that earlier. Jamie is vaccinated, too. He has the ‘V’ on his arm. Show him.”

  Jamie took off his jacket and rolled his sleeve up, showing the 3x3 inch ‘V’ burned into his arm. He rolled his sleeve back down. “I don’t know why you guys don’t have the vaccine, but if we can’t hold off the Captain then it’s not gonna matter. Let’s just get the rest of what we came here to get. Once we get back to Tazewell, we need get Joe bandaged up properly,” Jamie said, handing Cornbread back his shotgun. “C’mon, we got work to do.”

  * * *

  They finished loading all the supplies that the Dodge would hold. Aside from the anti-tank mines, they managed to get nearly all of the necessary ordnance. They had forty M4s, over two thousand rounds of ammo, fifty pounds of C4 with detonators, one .50 cal Ma Deuce with ammo, and several radios, including two of the SINCGARS systems. Both of the trucks were nearly empty by the time they finished, leaving little to be scavenged later. Joe had taken it upon himself to look for the sat-phone, finding it in Wagner’s LMTV. Luckily, the phone had been turned off when he located it. He turned it on and quickly back off again, checking to make sure that it still functioned. It worked just fine as far as he could tell. Now there was just one more thing to do.

  It was time to lure the Captain out.

  CHAPTER 24

  Joe was very nervous. His hands trembled as he dialed the last number in the call directory. It was a jumble of numbers that didn't make sense. The normal ten-digit numbers used in most American phones weren’t present in the sat-phone. He brought the handset to his ear and waited. Larry had set him up in a room at the motel – the Fincastle Inn as it had been called – and had given him the room to himself. If there were any unexpected noises in the background, any voices that weren’t supposed to be there, then the ruse would be uncovered. If that happened, they were in deep shit. The downside to being in the room was that the reception wouldn’t be great, but it should give enough static to mask Joe’s voice

  The line beeped several times before a click and digital static. Joe strained his ear to understand the voice. If he was going to impersonate Wagner, it was now or never.

  “Sir? Is that you?” Joe faked Wagner’s voice as best he could, hoping that the static would do the rest.

  “Wagner! What the fuck took you so goddamned long?” The deception was working, so far.

  “Sorry Captain, it took a little longer to get here than I expected,” Joe answered, thinking of the crashed LMTVs. Oh shit, the crash – I hope to God they are south of here. If they run into the LMTVs, we’re fucked, Joe thought.

  “Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me, Wagner? This is Lieutenant Edwards, dumbass! Do you have the trucks or not? And please tell me the other two fuckers with you are taken care of,” the aggravated voice of Lieutenant Edwards spoke through the digital static.

  “Yessir – Mike and Curtis are dead.”

  “I don’t give two shits about what their names are. Just tell us where you're at and we will come get the trucks.”

  Joe grinned. He had him now. “Which way are y’all comin’ from? There’s a bridge out near the town limits, so it makes a big deal which way you come.”

  “We’ll be headed up from the Bristol Motor Speedway,” Edwards said irritably. “As near as I can tell, we will be on Route 460/Route 19 most of the way up there. It looks like the main four-lane road leading to Tazewell. We’ll be mounting up and leaving within the hour, we’ll be there about two hours after that. So for fuck’s sake, don’t get yourself killed or lose any of our shit. Stay on the four-lane and wait for us. Edwards out.” The phone clicked and Joe turned the sat-phone off, just in case. He swiftly marched to the motel room’s door and stepped outside. Larry and the rest of the men were standing outside, waiting.

  “Well, what’s the news?” Larry asked, leaning against the wall outside the room.

  Joe smirked shrewdly. “We’re on. We got about three hours before he gets here. We got shit to do – quickly.”

  * * *

  Edwards clicked off the sat-phone as he walked to the Captain’s LAV. It was about time that Wagner was starting to pay off, and about time that Edwards got some of the respect he deserved from the Captain. He stuffed the sat-phone into the cargo pocket of his ACUs as he walked up. There were several of the Captain’s men huddled around the LAV as he approached. It was his time to shine.

  “Sir, I just got off the line with Wagner. He’s outside Tazewell with the trucks and supplies. I told him we’d be there in a couple hours. I suggest that we make our way up there ASAP, sir. That’ll leave less time for that asshole to fuck up.”

  The Captain curtly dismissed his men. The ones that were assigned to the Tazewell detail stood fast, waiting for instruction. The Captain turned and gave Edwards a firm pat on the shoulder. “Good, it’s about fuckin’ time.” He turned to address his men. “Mission is to get three LMTVs from one of our assets just north of here. There will be myself, Edwards, and a full crew in the LAV along with a full house in the Humvee. Those of you in the Humvee will be driving back the three LMTVs. Everybody stay frosty. No mistakes. Mistakes will get you killed, and if they don’t, I will fucking kill you myself. Got it?”

  “Yes sir!” The group collectively replied.

  “Then let’s go get my trucks!”

  CHAPTER 25

  Joe had hoped that the Captain himself was coming, but he wasn’t holding his breath. As long as he could take out the immediate threat – and from what he could gather, that threat was very close by – then he would take the small victory
. It was time to compartmentalize what needed to be accomplished in the next few hours. There was much to do, and less time to do it in.

  He wanted to ambush the Captain and his men. He wanted to make it so it wouldn’t break down into a gunfight if he could. If the plan collapsed and it became a shootout, then so be it. It wouldn’t be the first and certainly wouldn’t be the last time that the team would recreate the O.K. Corral.

  The weather had held out since the deluge of snow over the prior two days. The winter wonderland was still evident, as the sun hadn’t made an appearance to melt any of the precipitation away. The lateness of the day also made it clear that it would be around for another day at least. Joe had always loved the winters in Virginia. Rarely did it snow to the point where it became a nuisance, but it was a beautiful sight when it did. Virginia was one of those areas where all four seasons were seen. In the summer, it was hot, in the winter it was cold, but the fall and spring was where the seasons really shined. The spring was filled with green, the shade of the world returning after the bitter cold of winter. The fall was a stunning display of colors. The red, maroon, orange, and yellow of the leaves turning were gorgeous and plentiful. The mountains looked ablaze with striking hues. Joe only hoped he’d be around to see the seasons change again.

  He stood on the side of the road, supervising the preparations. The Claymores had been set outside of town at the base of the wall, and covered back up with snow. The Ma Deuce .50 cal was set up on a tripod in the back of Larry’s Dodge Ram. Larry had driven around town, handing out the M4s and two magazines for every man that was of age to use one. He didn't bother to, or for that matter have to, explain where the rifles had come from or who they were to be used against. Joe had no plans to endanger the few citizens left in the small town, but he wanted them prepared nonetheless. They had no beef in the quarrel; there was no use in putting them in undue danger. The citizens were more than capable of protecting themselves, at least now that they had the means to do it. There would be plenty of time to explain things later, but for now, they had bigger fish to fry.

  “Get the C4 on the road, Jamie! If we do it right, we should be able to take out damn near anything! And don’t make any more tracks than we have to! These fuckers are smarter than we think; don’t give ‘em any more help!” Joe shouted instructions to his men. “We don’t have a lot of time!”

  Jamie carefully placed the four charges in the middle of the road. Two of the one-pound blocks were set in either lane, parallel to one another, along with another parallel set fifty feet down the road.

  The plan was to ambush the Captain’s forces with everything they had and mop up the remains afterward. It was a half-baked plan, but ill-conceived tactics seemed to be their forte these days. Without knowing exactly what they would be running into, it was hard to estimate how they should plan. So far, overkill was their best option.

  Rick was finishing a hide that would suit his particular talents on a bridge overlooking the whole spectacle. He had located an old road sign that was roughly five feet by seven feet, and was broken near the bottom. The sign was snapped off just a few inches above the ground, and with the snow on top, it made a perfect place to lie in wait. From the vantage point he had, he would be aiming downhill – also a major plus – and had a clear view of the kill zone they had designated. Kane would be tied to the remains of the sign, ready to be let loose if the situation called for it.

  Balboa was doing his prep work just like the others. His was simple enough, though: park the Dodge Ram in the median and drive it out when the C4 was detonated. At that time, he would exit out the passenger side of the truck and lay down fire where necessary. Curtis was in charge of manning the .50 cal. Once the Ma Deuce was out of ammo, he was to get out of the truck and provide fire with the rest of the team. His rifle lay in the front seat of the Ram, along with Balboa’s. With all of their assets in place, they each convened in the middle of the road.

  Jamie finished stringing the C4 into place, rolling the det cord out to a safe distance. Once he was out a hundred feet away from the explosives, he realized that someone was going to have to be there to detonate the C4. “Okay, all set. Now, who is gonna be the one to detonate this shit?”

  “Well, I was kinda hoping you would, Jamie,” Joe replied. “Don’t worry, though. The rest of us are going to set up near here as well. Rick and Kane are going to set up underneath one of the downed road signs over there,” Joe said, pointing. “Since he’s our sniper, he will hide out under the sign and take out any stragglers. We will park the Dodge behind the berm, in the median of the road over there,” Joe motioned again. “Once they get in the kill zone, Jamie will detonate the C4, Rick will snipe anyone that happens to survive, and we will roll out the Ram and unload on the rest with the Ma Deuce. Near as I can tell, it won’t matter how much firepower he's got. Unless he has a fuckin’ M1 Abrams tank rolling through here in a little bit, nothing is gonna live through this.

  “Look, you guys know I'm not one for speeches or grandstanding. I can’t tell you enough how much this means to me to have everybody here. I also don’t want to let down Larry and the few citizens of Tazewell that are left. We all went through hell to get where we are now, and – as much as I hate to say it – it might be as good as it gets for us here. We have a chance to start a life here, one that really means something. When we were at Camp Dawson, it didn't really mean anything to us. We went out and helped complete strangers and we never asked for anything in return. I don’t know about you guys, but I'm not getting any younger. I want to settle down and make a life for myself,” Joe paused shortly. “And I wouldn’t want anyone besides the men I have here now with me. I understand that the impulsive nature of my decision to fall back here seemed like it was just off the top of my head, but it was a carefully considered option. I wanted to be somewhere familiar, somewhere that I had only good memories. I can’t go back to Rural Retreat; there are too many bad things that happened there. I have only good recollections of what happened to me in Tazewell.” Joe stepped forward and placed his hands on the shoulders of Jamie and Rick, addressing all of his men. “It’s time to finally settle down and make a home for ourselves.”

  CHAPTER 26

  It felt like an eternity as Jamie lay on the side of the road. In order for his camouflage to be effective, he’d made Joe and the others cover him with snow. The dirty colors of MultiCam camo weren’t exactly suited for hiding in a snowdrift. They had taken snow from an area not visible from the road, so as not to arouse suspicion.

  “Holy shit that’s cold! You fuckers owe me once this is all over!” Jamie complained from under his frozen blanket.

  “Chill out, Frosty,” Joe told his snow-covered friend. “Get it? ‘Chill,’ ‘Frosty.’”

  “You're an asshole, you know that?” Jamie retorted from under the snow.

  “Yeah, but you still love me,” Joe quipped.

  “I'm flipping you off right now, just so you know. Go get in place, we don’t have a lot of time left,” Jamie paused, shifting slightly under the snow. “Good luck, guys.”

  Joe knelt down to address Jamie. “Just keep your cool, and we will be just fine.” Joe snickered at Jamie again. “I'm sorry, buddy I'm gonna be doin’ this all day, just so you know.”

  “I'm never gonna live this down, am I?”

  Joe got up from speaking to the lump of snow in front of him. “Probably not.” He took a serious tone finally. “Just remember to try and take out as much as you can with those charges. We’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Will do. Go get in position. I’ll be alright here.”

  Joe nodded and quickly moved out. As he walked away from Jamie’s spot, he dragged his feet in a zigzag pattern, mimicking a zombie’s shuffle. The more attention he could draw away from Jamie’s location, the better. He hated having to put Jamie in such a precarious spot, but he was the best suited for the job. During their time at Camp Dawson, Jamie was the only one who had familiarized himself with the intricacies and applic
ations of C4 and the other explosives. Being the gun nut that he was, taking care of plastic explosives just came as second nature.

  As Joe walked away, he keyed up his radio. “Everybody set?”

  “Roger,” Rick replied.

  “Ten-four,” Balboa answered.

  “Yep, all set,” Curtis responded.

  “Good. Now we wait.”

  * * *

  They held their ground for nearly an hour and a half. Joe had taken up a position on the other end of the bridge from Rick, gaining a very good view of the battlefield. He could see a good ways down the road as well as the kill zone. He was also able to keep a solid watch on each one of his men.

  The afternoon waned on into the early evening with no sight or sound of the Captain, or any of the undead. It was nearly five o’clock before they had any indication of the sociopathic Marine’s arrival. Joe sat on a small hill overlooking their target area. He peered through the ACOG scope on his M4 every few minutes, drawn by sounds he’d thought he heard. A deer ran through his view, and one lone zombie limped by.

  Joe clicked his radio. “Anybody got anything yet?”

  “No, nothing yet,” Balboa replied.

  “Nada,” Rick answered.

  “I'm freezing my balls off over here,” Jamie quipped.

  “Jamie, I think it’s safe for you to move now. Go ahead and find a shady spot. It’ll be dark soon, so they shouldn’t be able to see you anyway,” Joe responded.

  “’Bout damn time! I think my balls have frostbite!”

  Joe chuckled. “Sorry, dude. It looks like … shit! Jamie, get down!”

  Joe dropped the radio and peered through the ACOG sight on his rifle. The light from the day was nearly gone, but Joe could just make out a column of black smoke rising in the distance. He turned his head to listen. The unmistakable sound of a diesel engine rumbled on the outer edges of his hearing. Joe had remained composed for the duration of his wait, slowly making himself as calm as he could. All of that was for naught now as he heard the engine getting louder. He could now differentiate two different engine sounds approaching. One was the steady clacking sound of a Humvee, the other was something much bigger, and judging by the sound, had a large turbocharged engine.