Soldier On: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

by Shawn Chesser

  Lawson rapped sharply. The other four men stayed abreast of the door, two per side, and waited the customary thirty seconds.

  “No one home,” Lawson said-a little too early as something heavy impacted the door from within. The moaning soon commenced; it was nearly always the same, a low pitched plaintive sound that caused grown men to get the chills. So much for hoping the house was empty.

  They always followed the same protocol. The entry man would pop the door with the twelve pound Thundersledge and then stand back. Rarely did it take much more than the hammer. Occasionally one of the operators would be forced to blow the lock with a shotgun.

  Lawson was six foot tall, although he was thin; his body was ripped with corded muscles. His pale complexion and wiry frame earned him the nickname Icky from his peers. It was short for Ichabod, as in Ichabod Crane the timid character from the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Ick was calm on the exterior; in battle he was anything but timid.

  “Pop the door, Ick.”

  The sledge traced a well practiced tight arc, a perfect one timer. The door buckled as the hammer forced the trim on the inside to pop off, rendering the deadbolt useless. What followed was a little humorous, but deadly serious. A hefty female zombie who had been the source of the moaning became wedged between the ruined door and the jamb.

  The trapped undead woman had been cooking in the one story ranch house for days. She was morbidly obese, pasty white and bloated like a beached whale carcass. The last shirt that she put on while still alive was stained with days old dried blood and other not so dry bodily fluids. She had probably been some soldier or airman’s wife enjoying her weekend when the Omega virus stormed across the nation.

  Gaines bellowed, “Clear.”

  Icky stepped aside to allow the other two operators a clear field of fire. The three round burst from Gaines silenced SCAR assault rifle pulped the walkers face. Her body performed a clumsy pirouette and crashed across the entryway to the house.

  Sergeant Dale Williams stood back from the door, silenced SCAR at the ready waiting for more zombies to appear. After a few seconds Captain Gaines stepped over the corpse and began clearing the interior of the house.

  “Clear,” was repeated after each room was checked for threats and deemed to be empty. With practiced precision the four man team swarmed the house from top to bottom.

  “What does this remind you of gentlemen?” Gaines said, subtly reminding his men to stay frosty.

  “Fallujah, sir.”

  “Ding. X gets a square. Good job Ick.”

  Williams dragged the corpse down the stairs and deposited it on the brown lawn.

  Gaines pulled the door shut and marked it with a big chalk X and the numeral one. He had taken this right out of the hurricane Katrina playbook. The X meant the house was clear and the circled out one denoted the now deceased occupant.

  Scenes like this played out all across the city as the Special Forces soldiers from Fort Carson prepared Colorado Springs to become the new capital of the United States.

  Chapter 3

  Outbreak Day 4

  River Bend Campground

  Wasatch mountains, Utah

  The cutoff road was right where the map indicated it would be. Cade followed it to the right and continued on further until he saw the small sign that read, River Bend Campground.

  The symbols on the map denoted that the place would be unimproved-and it was. There were only eight sites and all but one was empty.

  A white Jeep CJ was backed in next to one of the sites. The odor of carrion was evident; except for the flies he detected no movement. A red, three person North Face tent was erected directly behind the Jeep.

  The Special Ops motorcycle was very quiet, although the exhaust was baffled; it still made enough noise to flush two very large ravens from the tent. They cursed the intruder with their caws and flew into the tallest tree where they continued to let their displeasure be known.

  Cade silenced the bike’s engine, dismounted and drew his Glock 17 from the holster strapped to his thigh.

  Beer cans were scattered near the bumper of the old beat up 4x4. He knelt and touched the back of his right hand to the mound of ashes in the rock-ringed fire pit, cold. Next he slowly traversed the front of the tent trying to ascertain if anything remained inside. All that he could see, and hear, between the open flaps, was a cloud of small black flies. Using a long stick, he carefully parted the door to the fly hotel. A corpse-thankfully still dead-was splayed out on top of a pair of green sleeping bags. Maggots had made the remains of the dead camper their new home. The woman’s head was only attached to her body with strands of dried skin and shiny corded muscle, the eye sockets had been picked clean. There was little left of her to explain how she ultimately met her violent end. Bite marks were visible on her exposed skin but Cade couldn’t tell if they were human or animal. Some of the damage had obviously been incurred by the ravenous black birds, which were still in the trees making a ruckus.

  Judging by the decomposition and the amount of flies and their larvae she had been dead for a few days. Blood was splattered throughout the interior but had dried days ago. The smell in the hot tent was enough to make a normal person vomit. Cade had seen it all and had ceased being normal days ago. On the first day of the outbreak he had been forced to re-kill his favorite neighbors. They technically weren’t alive, but he dispatched them all the same. That was the last time he had vomited. The ex-Delta Force operator was all business now, the sight and smell of the slaughtered woman didn’t faze him.

  Cade had only glanced in the tent momentarily. He removed his head from the opening and scanned his surroundings seeing no threats in sight. Since darkness, by his estimation, was only an hour away he made the decision to stay the night at the River Bend campground. Seeing as how the tent was already occupied, he opted to sleep in the vehicle. It would provide minimal security but at least he would wake up dry. A low pitched rumble moved through the canyon; the thunder announcing that the mountain thunderstorm had arrived. Cade sniffed the air; the smell of ozone was a portent that lightning might also make an appearance.

  Cade removed the silenced M4 from the hard plastic holster on the side of the bike, and grabbed an MRE from the saddle bag. As an afterthought he retrieved the night vision goggles as well, and then wheeled the bike in front of the Jeep and prepped it for a quick getaway.

  The Jeep was unlocked and strangely devoid of the usual cooler, stove, lantern as well as any other normal camping accoutrements. It appeared the owner only planned on a quick overnighter. The woman was probably trying to get away from the infected on the first day of the outbreak and expected the government to quickly get the situation under control. Hundreds of millions of Americans held the same false assumptions and it led to their early deaths. The bad news was most of them reanimated and now walked the earth in search of the lucky few that somehow managed to survive, lucky few, what an oxymoron.

  It was impossible to get comfortable inside the cramped Jeep but he made the most of it. He devoured the MRE instantly and powered up his night vision goggles.

  The sun disappeared behind a cloak of gloomy storm clouds and darkness descended on the Wasatch. Thanks to the clouds the night was moonless and without the night vision goggles, he wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

  The goggles worked perfectly, he scanned the forest one last time, and there was no detectable movement in the soft green glow. After locking the doors and hooking the NVGs onto the helmet mounting clip, he said a few words in his head, they were directed at his wife and daughter, wherever they may be. I am alive and I will see you soon. I love you Brook and Raven. He closed his eyes, sleep owned him seconds later.

  Chapter 4

  Outbreak Day 5

  Schriever Air force Base

  Colorado Springs, Colorado

  Schriever AFB, home of the 50th Space Wing, Space Warfare Center as well as the Ballistic Missile Defense Organization. The sophisticated sattelites monitored from Schriever would provide a
window with which to survey their new reality.

  The remnants of the United States government would be trickling in during the coming days and it was rumored the new President, former Speaker of the House Valerie Clay, would also be arriving at the base sometime soon.

  The installation was established in 1987, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, twenty miles from the center of Colorado Springs. The sprawling collection of squat buildings rested on an elevated expanse of land blessed with heavy duty fencing and excellent fields of fire. The base would soon be fortified with troops and equipment returning from two theatres of war and the many other bases the United States maintained overseas.

  Colorado Springs was home to a substantial military presence before Omega, now there were less than three thousand soldiers remaining. Fort Carson, home of the Second and Third divisions of the 10th Special Forces group, was to the west of the city. Only a small fraction of the base personnel returned to the base after the outbreaks. The famous NORAD facility, buried deep inside of Cheyenne Mountain was southwest of Colorado Springs.

  In addition to Schriever there were two other bases able to accommodate flight operations, Peterson AFB housed a test flight facility and Fort Kit Carson housed a large assortment of rotor-wing and fixed-wing aircraft. It was no wonder why Colorado Springs was chosen to replace Washington D.C.

  ***

  Brook had begun the count to take her mind off of the fact that before they became infected the walkers she was putting down were like her. A number seemed less personal and it seemed to work...so far.

  The gun bucked again, “Seventy-th...damn,” the shot was low and right, the walkers right arm was blown from the socket and backstroked away in a blurry green arc. Before the outbreak the one armed little boy had been someone’s pride and joy, and judging by the red and gold uniform, he died doing what he loved most. Before expending her last round Brook rubbed her sore shoulder and readjusted the butt plate where it met the muscle.

  The long gun boomed again, the round entered the Little Leaguer’s head through the left eye, peeled back half of his face and sent the contents of his cranium airborne. The kinetic energy from the bullets punch put the boy on his back. Brook waited a second to make sure he wasn’t getting back up before adding him to her count.

  “Seventy-three,” she wiped her brow and popped the top on the silver and blue can of god-awful tasting energy drink. She guzzled it down in one drink, her face screwed up, Monkeypiss. The petite woman had been awake for twenty plus hours. Though the taurine and caffeine laced beverage made her gag, it was necessary if she was going to do her part to help protect the enclave and her daughter Raven.

  “More ammo, now!” she screamed to anyone within earshot. Brook closed her bloodshot red rimmed eyes and cursed the impending sunrise.

  Her introduction to the Remington M24 had been hasty. The bolt action rifle had a Leupold 10x40 mm optic attached behind the thermal scope and it magnified every grisly detail. Brook was presented with a target rich environment, viewed through the scope, the zombies seemed like they were close enough to touch.

  Each walker that she added to her kill count served to boost her confidence in the rifle as well as herself. The weapon was similar to the Model 700 that her husband Cade had taught her how to shoot. The M24 was a larger caliber, and it recoiled with more force, but she had to admit she was getting comfortable shooting her new long gun. Brook was also getting used to this new existence and her continuing baptism by fire.

  ***

  The colonel approached her the previous day. The softcover perched on his head was pulled so low Brook had a hard time meeting his eyes. By anyone’s standards the colonel was tall, but to Brook he was a gigantic man with a booming baritone voice, the name tag on his chest read “Shrill”, he was anything but.

  She had initially met him when the Chinooks, piloted by the men of the 160th SOAR deposited her and Raven at the base. Colonel Shrill had been there to greet them even before the rotor blades stopped turning. Since then she had learned he was the highest ranking man left on base. Looking at the Airman’s pressed camouflage utilities and clean-shaven face it was hard to fathom that there was a war with the undead being waged outside of Schriever Air Force Base.

  “Young lady do you have any experience with firearms?”

  If only he knew. Brook thought before answering semi-honestly.

  “A little bit sir.”

  “That’s good enough, follow me.” He pivoted and without a backward glance, strode purposefully out the door.

  His demeanor and bearing discouraged her from saying no; it was like she had been hypnotized by the man. Brook found herself following lockstep in his wake. The colonel recruited several more civilians before leading his ragtag group of conscripts to the armory.

  Shrill silently looked at the survivors before addressing them. “Ladies and Gentlemen this shitstorm fell in my lap. If it would have been courteous and started on a Monday then you probably wouldn’t be standing here having to say yes to the question that I am going to ask.”

  One man in the back meekly raised his arm. Shrill ignored him and kept talking.

  “The majority of the men and women that would be here on a normal day did not make it back. Most of the base personnel here at Schriever maintain and operate the space birds in our U.S. arsenal. Ninety-nine percent of our security force never came home.” Shrill paused for effect and continued, his voice increasing in volume as he cut to the chase. “Ladies and gentlemen I am humbly asking the...” he paused again and poked at the air counting the group standing before him, “...thirteen of you to help spell my men and women on perimeter security. They have been at it valiantly for days without any substantial rest. I need all of the help that I can get in fending off these abominations that used to be my neighbors, at least until the C-5s and C-130s full of combat veterans return from Iraq and Afghanistan. This isn’t public knowledge, but before his passing, President Odero ordered a complete withdrawal of all of our troops around the world. From Germany to the Korean peninsula, men and women from all the branches are coming home to help us pick up the pieces. It was a testament to his quick thinking and it happened to be the last executive order signed before he went silent. Our new President arrives tomorrow. A little bird tells me that we will employ the reinforcements ASAP and she is gonna let us take the gloves off and have a good old fashioned street brawl. Ladies and gentlemen the United States might be down, but she is not out...by any stretch of the imagination.” Shrill’s resonant voice abruptly went silent, it was as if someone had hit the colonels mute button; a hush fell over the room.

  Brook looked around at the civilians assembled nearest her. The man in the back row slowly lowered his arm. His Adams apple bobbed up and down, he decided to keep his mouth shut and swallow his words.

  “I’m in,” Brook said, shattering the quiet. She was caught off-guard by her own voice, like some giant ventriloquist had uttered the words while its hand moved her mouth. Her motive was purely survival driven, not just for hers, but for Raven and Carl’s survival. Deep down though, she was ashamed to admit she had grown to like dispatching the dead. It was a strange sensation. After all, her husband Cade was the Tier-One operator and former Delta Force shooter. He was the alpha male and was supposed to be the protector, not her. Cade’s whereabouts had been a mystery since she had talked to him last. Shortly after the outbreak, before the President declared martial law she had spoken with him on her now long gone and useless smartphone. Cade had instructed her to leave her parent’s home in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina and seek refuge at Fort Bragg in North Carolina.

  She had been successful at reaching safety with her daughter, brother and a little boy named Dmitri. They had saved the boy from the flesh-eaters in the small town of Aberdeen. So if she needed to be the alpha male-so to speak-then so be it. The only thing she could do now was protect her little girl and stay alive in the hope that they would eventually be reunited with Cade.

  Slowly, out o
f peer pressure or basic herd mentality, one by one the rest of the civilians accepted the colonel’s request.

  “Outstanding!” Shrill boomed. “Follow me.”

  ***

  After leading them to the armory on the south side of the base Colonel Shrill asked the others to sit tight while he pulled Brook aside.

  “One of the operators involved in the airlift told me you acted courageously at Fort Bragg. He even went so far as to tell me your quick thinking saved some lives and one of the Night Stalker’s Chinook helicopters. I wanted to say good job and welcome to Schriever.”

  Brook was speechless. She had expected the Bull Moose to tell her that she could leave if she had “mommying” to do. Instead his words enlivened her, she felt empowered and in charge of her own destiny. “My main objective is to keep my little girl from seeing any more bloodshed. We went through hell to reach Bragg and she is suffering from the ordeal.”

  The others were now intently watching the exchange.

  “Ma’am I fully understand if you feel the need to stay back and take care of your family. We need shooters and I am inclined to believe that you are one,” he pointed his thumb at the other civilians, “we also need bodies to put bullets in the magazines and runners to distribute them.” The base commander looked at the other men and women before he finished, “They...are not shooters.”

  Brook swallowed, and merely nodded.

  He had her, but finished his spiel anyway, “The dead are following each other here and I fear if we don’t act quickly, and decisively, then we will have another disaster like Fort Bragg on our hands.”

  ***

  That was how Brook ended up in the tower with the now empty sniper rifle and piles of decaying bodies scattered all around her.

  While she waited for the ammo runner to exchange her empty magazines for full ones, she caught herself staring at one of the ghouls she had put down. The corpse lay sprawled fifty feet away; the entry wound in its forehead was as big as her fist, out leaked clumpy gray brain matter. The fully burned male stared back at her with dead open eyes, its black sooty maw peeled over ivory teeth in a final death grimace. I wonder who loved him, Brook thought.