by A. J. Sikes
Sergeant Kuhn stormed off around the truck. Jed heard the cab door open. The SAW gunner and the other two guys had climbed down and were holding positions near the bus.
“Man, fuck this,” Jed said. He stepped back from the truck and made sure the guys by the bus weren’t looking at him. They had their attention on the bridge and Sergeant Kuhn was who knew where, so Jed stepped back once more, ready to bolt. He went to turn when he felt a gun against his back.
“You want to get in line, soldier.”
The pressure of the gun went away. Jed looked over his shoulder. A brown dude stood next to Sergeant Kuhn. Jed couldn’t figure the guy for Mexican or something else, but he looked a lot like Chips. Same round face and little bit of fuzz on his top lip. Jed had to shake himself when he looked the man in the eyes.
But he couldn’t be Chips.
Chips is dead. He shot himself in his kitchen. He’s dead.
This guy was wearing an ACU, carrying an M16 in one hand and a 9mm in the other. He had a butter bar tab on his uniform. Jed slowly came to half attention, but he kept his eyes on the LT while the man holstered the 9mm.
“Your weapon, soldier,” the man said, and motioned with his eyes at Jed’s M16. He hadn’t even realized that he’d brought it up and at the ready.
“Yes, sir,” Jed said, relaxing and lowering the muzzle to aim at the ground.
“I’m putting you on point, Welch,” the LT said. “Trade with Cory on the SAW for now.”
The SAW gunner came up to Jed and lifted the ammo bags he had strapped around him. Jed took those, and then traded weapons with him.
“You’re Cory?” Jed asked as he strapped on the ammo bags and slung the weapon at the ready.
“Corribol, motherfucker. The name’s Corribol.” The guy grunted while he checked over the M16. “The fuck you do to this thing?”
“One of them did it. Threw it across the street.”
“Enough talk,” the LT said. He motioned for Jed to join him and Sergeant Kuhn by the truck. They had a map out. The LT held it against the side of the truck and used a pen to trace their route. Jed recognized the city grid laid out clear enough, but didn’t none of it look like what was all around them.
“Welch, I need you to find a path through this shit up here and establish a zone of fire on the other side. Sergeant Kuhn will guide the civilians down to the street. The other men will maintain our perimeter here. We’re taking them one bus at a time. Rally point is Columbus Circle, other side of Central Park. We go down 60th to the park, then follow 59th along the edge.”
It was a second before Jed put it together.
“We—We’re doing it on our own, sir?”
“That’s right, Welch. Me, you, and Corribol. Sergeant Kuhn and his men will hold position with the bus until we get back.”
“What about our driver, sir? Or the HMMV?”
“Driver? You’re looking at him, Welch. Hummer got ate up on the bridge.”
Jed looked down the side of the bus. He could see the second one behind the first. But he didn’t see the Hummer anywhere. Jed looked back at the LT and nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Sergeant Kuhn traded a look with the LT, then told his men to take positions at the front and rear of the first bus. The second bus drove down beside the first so the door was in between the two vehicles. The doors opened on both buses and two soldiers stepped out carrying LAWs and M16s.
The marshals. Right.
Jed thought about asking if they were coming with them, but they’d already moved out to the rear of the vehicles.
Fucking rear guard duty. About as safe as being on point.
“Remember your fire discipline,” Corribol said. He was off to the side, by their truck and with the LT. Jed was ready to give the guy some shit for losing his cool back on the bridge and going cyclic, but he kept his tongue.
“Move out, Welch,” the LT said.
Jed gave a quick nod, lifted the SAW as best he could, and looked for the easiest way to climb over the pile of ruined cars and bodies that blocked their path.
Upper East Side, Manhattan
The pounding of a hammer snapped Meg from a daze. She’d nearly passed out from exhaustion. Jason and Rachel were repairing the barricade over the chief’s office. Rex was nowhere to be seen. But the shutters were partly cracked.
“Where’s Rex?” Meg asked, scrambling for her axe and coming up on her knees with the weapon in her hands.
“He’s out there,” Jason yelled back. He held the last plywood sheet while Rachel hammered it in place.
“Why is Rex outside? What did you do?”
“We didn’t do anything!” Rachel hollered back. She stared Meg down through her face shield, eyes wild and angry. She still had the hammer in her grip, and Meg thought for a second the woman would charge her.
“So why is he—”
“Like I said. We didn’t do anything. Just like he didn’t do anything. Not a damn thing at all, did he? So he grew a pair and went out to get more masks from the engine.”
Meg rose up and walked to the end of the bay, crouching as she got close to the shutters.
She jerked backwards and nearly stumbled when Rex’s head and upper body came under the door in a rush. He had a bundled up turnout coat that he threw inside as he scooted forward on his stomach. As soon as his feet were in, he lurched up and raced for the chain to lower the door.
Meg watched it all in disbelief. Rex Finney, the paranoid probie? Go out on his own to get extra masks?
“I got two more,” he said, looking at Jason and Rachel. They both nodded, and Jason stooped to pick up the jacket Rex had thrown in.
“I didn’t see any of them, and the rest of the gear . . . it had blood on it. I didn’t touch it.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Jason said. He pulled two masks from the jacket and handed one to Rachel.
“The others were all ruined in the fight. These are the last two good ones we have.”
Before Meg could say anything, Jason and Rachel removed their face shields and strapped on the masks.
So the lines have been drawn. Fine.
“I’ll go upstairs then,” Rex said. “If that’s all right.”
Jason waved his hand at Rex like he wanted him to just go away, and then he paused to give the man some marching orders.
“Grab a hammer this time, and make sure those windows are blocked off all the way.”
Meg was about to say something, but Rex had already taken off for the stairs. He skipped around the dead bodies, snatched up a hammer and some nails from the cart, and disappeared up the steps a moment later.
“I thought we were all each other’s people now.”
No replies greeted Meg’s attempt at fixing the situation, only the banging of hammers as Jason and Rachel laid the last of their 2x4s across the plywood barrier. Whatever had gone down between Rex and the others, Meg was clearly being left out of it.
She stared at the blood and the bodies, feeling her mind slowly falling apart.
Nobody should have to see this much death. Not even in war. This is why we shouldn’t have war.
Meg felt herself closing down. She heard her grandmother’s words in her mind, but they were empty of any love or encouragement she used to feel. Now all she had was purpose. A blind reason to keep going.
Survival. That’s all we have left to us.
“We need to clean it up,” Jason said from behind her. She turned to see him aiming a hammer at the bodies in the corner.
“I’ll take care of it,” Meg said. “You and Rachel get a new hose on the valve and spray the place down. We can crack the shutters enough to wash it all outside.”
“I’ll help you with the bodies,” Rachel said.
“No. I’ll do it myself.”
Rachel flipped a hand in the air as if to say Whatever.
Meg hung her axe on the rack and went to the basement door. She opened it, feeling the cold draft rise up from below. It would function as a morgue
for a few days and might keep the smell down a bit. They could close the door, and seal it up with blankets around the cracks.
Do we have a few days? If they get in again . . .
☣
Meg set Dayone’s little girl between her mother’s body and Mrs. Cannady’s. Abeer and her infant were on the other side of the basement space, up against the wall where the cots were usually stacked. The punk girl and pink sweater lady were next. Meg cursed herself for not ever learning their or the other women’s names, or their children’s.
There had to be other survivors out there somewhere. Other parents and their children. Mothers and fathers. Uncles and aunts. Grandparents. All of them. She couldn’t save these people, but she’d save someone. Somewhere in this city there was a person Meg would help stay alive.
She got up on her feet, and slowly made her way down the basement steps. After a dozen more trips like that, she had all the bodies moved. Jason and Rachel had taken the cots and stacked them out of the way. They’d put a new hose on the valve and were ready to spray down the walls and floor of the bay.
“I’ll be up in a minute,” Meg told them. She went down the basement steps, ignoring Rachel’s look. The woman seemed like she wanted to apologize, or maybe just tell Meg to stay with them in case more of the monsters came back.
But Meg had something to do first.
In the basement, she paused by each body and said a quiet farewell to the person. If she knew the names, she spoke them. When she didn’t, she said she was sorry. She knew there was something important to do for Abeer and her baby, but Meg didn’t know the ritual and she felt it would be disrespectful to do it wrong or only halfway.
Who would know?
She would. And that had to be enough for now. If she was going to get through this, she had to trust her heart and mind together.
“I’m sorry, Abeer. Sorry I couldn’t do more for you. For any of you,” she said, turning in a circle and looking at them all lying there. Then she went upstairs.
Rachel was waiting at the door when she came up.
“We can’t clean the place until this door is closed.”
Meg thought about it for second and nodded. Silently, she collected blankets and, with Rachel’s help, covered the gaps around the basement door. When they were done, Jason began the grisly task of spraying down the bay. Rachel and Meg cracked the shutters just enough to let the mess out onto the street.
When the water ran clear, Jason shut off the nozzle. They waited in silence, staring at the dripping walls. Meg looked at all the wet posters and photographs now splotchy and stained. The group photographs that she was in hung lower on the wall than the others, being some of the newer ones. The frames were cracked and the glass broken in almost all of them.
Spare axes and turnout coats lay scattered against the walls. The stack of cots dripped water and, as Meg watched, slowly slid down the wall until they tumbled into a heap of sticks and wet canvas.
It looked like a bomb had gone off in the app floor.
“We should close the shutters,” Rachel said at last.
“Yeah.”
Meg reached for the chain and slowly put the door back down. She thought about heading upstairs to crash in the engineer’s room, but she paused. A crackling sound came to her ears from outside. Meg panicked and raced away from the shutters.
“What is it?” Jason yelled up to her. “Are they back?”
“Yes. I—No. No! That’s gunfire! There’s someone out there!”
Upper East Side, Manhattan
Jed was thinking he’d picked the right job after all. Being up on point, he might be the first to get it. But it’d be over quick at least. Except he didn’t see it happening like that. Not with that big chain of civilians all lined up behind him.
The LT was the second man in line, with the civilians teamed up in groups of three behind him. Corribol was at the rear with Jed’s M16. They staggered their movement, leap-frogging the civilian groups down the blocks. Sometimes Jed would see movement in a skyscraper, but he could never be sure. Everything looked like flashes of pale flesh in the fading afternoon light. But it was quiet, and since nothing was jumping out and tearing him up, it seemed like they’d make it out okay. Just a few more blocks to go and they’d be at the rally point. Central Park was right up ahead.
A series of shrieks put Jed up against the wall of the nearest building. He had the SAW up, but the damn thing was heavy, and he needed to find a support for the bipod fast. A taxi was up on the curb just a little ways back, but the LT was already there with the first group of civilians. Corribol had the other groups running to catch up.
Jed jerked his head left and right, then up, over and over again. No way was he going to let them sneak up on him. Not when he had a SAW in his hands.
Goddamn zombies. Monsters. Shit, I don’t care what you are. You are not getting Jedidiah Monroe Welch today.
He spotted them as they launched from the second floor of the skyscraper he had just passed, the one next to the LT’s position. Corribol and the other civilians had just come up to join the LT’s group. At least a dozen of the monsters jumped from the broken windows and straight down onto the LT, Corribol, and the civilians. Screams and shouts and gunfire mixed to shatter the weird silence that had taken over New York City.
For a moment, Jed just watched it happen. The monsters biting and ripping with their claws. People screamed and fell to the sidewalk. The LT shot one just as another leaped onto him from the building. Corribol had two of them down before he was taken out by another pair jumping from the windows.
Jed swallowed the scream that was building. The horror and screams faded in his ears as he felt the SAW bucking in his hands.
The LT went down, then the first few civilians. Jed was doing them a favor. The monsters had jumped right on them, and Jed saw the LT get bit. Tears flowed fast and hot down Jed’s face, but he kept firing. Burst after burst put the monsters down, thrashing and clawing at the bullet holes peppering their chests. Finally, Jed went cyclic and sprayed the mass of writhing bodies, monsters and victims alike. He could have let them live, but they’d have been killed later anyway. Or turned into monsters themselves.
Corribol was already twitching on the ground when Jed put a burst into the soldier’s chest.
This is what you did. You protected yourself, so I’m just doing the same thing now.
Jed let up for a second, scanning the bodies down the street. A few of them moved, then Jed realized they were the monsters, sucking on the people they’d just killed.
Jed fired again until he didn’t see anything moving.
Anything that wasn’t Jed Welch was as good as dead. But Jed didn’t feel much alive inside of himself either.
I gotta get out. Gotta go. Get out of here. Get safe. Free. Away.
He didn’t even know he’d been running until he came up short against a concrete barrier. Someone shouted to him from his left and he spotted a soldier with a weapon standing inside a smashed up storefront.
“Yo, c’mon. Get on in here. You got ammo for that SAW?”
Jed ducked around the busted glass and stepped over the ruined window display. The guy who’d called him into the store was a black dude, thin like a beanpole and with a goofy grin stretched across his mouth. “My name’s Bree,” he said, holding out a hand. Jed ignored it and just jutted his chin at the guy as he came inside.
He still felt dizzy from killing the monsters.
And the people.
Jed stumbled into the store and nearly tripped over a mannequin wearing a purple blouse and those short shorts Jed used to like so much. Looking at them now didn’t make him feel anything, though.
“We callin’ her Hoeisha,” Bree said, laughing like any of the nervous tweakers Jed used to run with. He kept the SAW up close to his belly, out of instinct. Something about the soldier in front of him didn’t sit right. Jed sniffed and wiped a hand under his nose fast before grabbing the SAW again and holding it tight.
&n
bsp; “Welch,” he said.
“Welch. Cool, man, cool. Like I said, I’m Bree. Back here I got Marks, Sharpe, and Hardly.”
“The name’s Harney,” another soldier said with a drawl that reminded Jed of home. A trio of guys were hanging out behind the cash register. The guy named Harney was a white dude like Jed. Could have been from Georgia himself, but definitely down south somewhere. The other two, Marks and Sharpe, were probably New Yorkers all their life. Some kind of mixed race guys, skin that looked like it might be brown or maybe it was just the shadows, Jed couldn’t tell. All four of the guys had M16s and held them by the butt stocks or carry handles, almost like they didn’t have a use for them anymore.
Jed stepped deeper into the shop and turned to face the window, holding the SAW across his chest. “Who y’all with?”
“We ain’t with nobody,” Bree said. “Less you mean ourselves. We what’s left of the four-oh-one,” Bree said. “Got chewed the fuck up on Queens Boulevard. Barely made it over the bridge and didn’t get more’n three blocks. Bunch of civilians cramming up the roadway there, trying to get out of Manhattan.”
“We told ‘em this was the safe zone,” Harney said.
“Yeah, and did they listen? Nope,” said one of the other guys. Jed didn’t know if it was Marks or Sharpe, but he didn’t much care right then. Bree had a look in his eye that told Jed they’d done something like he had. Run off probably.
Or maybe these are the guys who shot all those people in the cars? Why would they do that, unless . . .
Jed figured he should say something, anything to keep cool with these guys. If they’d bailed out like he had, that was one thing. He’d even understand if they’d had to shoot people to keep from getting infected themselves. But if they’d gone mustang and just started shooting people for the hell of it . . .
Jed moved farther into the shop, away from the window and a little ways farther from Bree. Something about the guy’s face told Jed that Bree wasn’t being straight about everything. And he got a sick feeling in his gut that he shouldn’t have come into the storefront in the first place.
Only one way to find out. Get ‘em talkin’ and see what they say.
