by Ricky Sides
“All right, men, don’t let this throw you. Those things out there aren’t men anymore,” Sergeant Shannon said. “Remember, this disease is transferred by their bites, so that means you just stopped them from passing it on to other people.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not feeling too heroic right now,” Herb stated. He stared thoughtfully out into the besieged city for a second before continuing. When he did, his voice sounded strained as he said, “We forced unarmed people back into that nightmare earlier. No, I’m not feeling very proud of myself at the moment.”
Sergeant Shannon had already moved away to a different section of the line, so he didn’t hear Herb’s comment, but Randy did. He nodded his head soberly in agreement. “Hell, I thought we were the good guys, but I’m not feeling like that’s true right now.”
“You two need to lighten up,” one of the other men said. “There’s no way to know if the people we turned back already had the disease. If just one of the sick people gets out of containment, scenes like this would be repeated somewhere else. Maybe in several other cities before it’s all said and done.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Randy conceded.
“You know I am, or you would if you thought this through with the right mindset,” the guardsman replied.
“What do you mean by that?” Herb asked.
“I mean there is more to this shit than we are being told,” the man responded in a quiet tone of voice. “You saw the wounds those zombie things had taken before we lit them up. You know as well as I do that there was no way in hell they should have been up walking around. Then we riddled their asses with bullets and they refused to go down. Hell, we’d probably still be shooting them if you hadn’t decided to go for head shots.”
“Yeah, well, we were all here and saw the same thing, so you’re preaching to the choir. What’s your point?” Randy asked.
The guardsman looked around to see if Sergeant Shannon was nearby. When he was satisfied that he could say what was on his mind without fear of the sergeant hearing him and going ballistic, the man said, “I think we had a hard time killing them because they are already dead. I think they are zombies.”
“I think you’re nuts, man! You’ve been watching way too many movies,” Randy argued.
“Yeah, remember years ago some nut, high on bath salts, got naked and started eating people down in Florida. This could be a case like that. We may just be dealing with a serious drug problem here,” Herb countered.
“Say what you like. Think what you will. Just do us all a favor and keep making those head shots,” the guardsman countered.
“All right, you men, listen up,” Sergeant Shannon said gruffly. “Our replacements are coming to take their turn at guard duty. You’ll be staying at the boat harbor tonight. Keep your weapons handy. If things get bad here, you’ll be called back. Also, the brass is concerned about the possibility of some of the people getting desperate enough to try a river crossing. When our teams aren’t manning the barricades on the bridges, we’ll be on call to board boats and intercept swimmers or boats coming across the river. That means no one leaves and no alcohol is allowed when on or off official guard duty.”
Sergeant Shannon’s instructions led to a chorus of groans and complaints from the men. Shannon frowned and said, “Knock it off. This isn’t a vacation.”
“Hey, guys, here comes a dog,” one of the guards said, interrupting the impromptu meeting.
Herb looked out into the street. He saw a large dog of indeterminate breed trotting up the street toward the blockade. The dark brown, shorthaired mutt looked like a Pitt Bull mix to Herb as he checked it out with his 3X scope. It had a small, triangular patch of white on the front of its chest. The animal stopped near the dead zombies and sniffed the air in their direction.
“If that dog walks over to the bodies, kill it,” Sergeant Shannon instructed.
“Get away from there, dog!” Randy shouted when the animal took a step in the direction of the dead zombies.
The dog stopped and turned to face the barricade. It perked up its ears, wagged its tail, and barked. Then the canine started toward the guard unit, causing Sergeant Shannon to say, “It could be contaminated with the disease. It was going to go over to the three we killed, so it obviously hasn’t made an effort to stay clear of them. Take the shot, Bennett.”
Herb had the animal’s triangular white patch in his sights. He tightened his trigger finger, but at the last second, he shifted his aim to the asphalt in front of the dog and pulled the trigger.
The dog jerked its head to the left, away from the spot where the bullet had dug a trench in the surface of the road. It yelped, spun in its tracks, and then ran back the way it had come as fast as its legs could carry it.
“You missed, but at least you scared it away,” Shannon said. He stared at Herb in disgust. “I think you did that on purpose,” he accused the man.
“I did,” Herb admitted. “I don’t want to kill a dog if I don’t have to, but I would have if it had kept coming at us.” He shrugged and said, “We gave the people a chance to retreat. Why not do the same for the dog?”
Sergeant Shannon was about to respond when he was called away to the radio.
***
Herb and Randy worked the blockade twelve hours a day for three days. Their unit bivouacked at the boat harbor the first night, but after that, the encounters with the zombies and desperate civilians became so frequent that the men who weren’t on guard duty slept in sleeping bags beside their vehicles in order to be able to reinforce the men on guard should the need arise.
On the third night of their deployment, it seemed to Herb that he had just fallen asleep when one of the guard members shook his feet and spoke his name. “What is it?” he asked irritably as he glanced at the phosphorescent hands on his watch. He noted with surprise that it was well past midnight, which meant that he had been asleep for three hours.
“There are some rafts heading across the river. Sergeant Shannon says to get your team and board a boat to deal with the threat,” replied the corporal who had been sent to wake him.
“All right. I’m up,” Herb responded.
The messenger left without saying anything else. He was in a hurry, because he had to wake another team that would man a second boat.
Herb got out of his sleeping bag and woke the rest of his team, which included Randy. They grabbed their gear and made their way down to the Decatur Boat Harbor and the designated slips that held the boats they would be using for the mission. They found Sergeant Shannon waiting with a troubled expression on his face.
What are our orders, Sergeant?” Herb asked.
“You are to maintain a safe distance and order the civilians to return to the Decatur side of the river. Give them one warning. If they comply with the order, you are to toss them a rope and give them a tow to get them started in the right direction. Make certain to cut the line well in advance and avoid landfall on that side of the river. If they refuse to obey the order to return to Decatur, then you are to open fire.”
“Damn, Sergeant. That’s pretty harsh,” Randy said.
“Don’t you think I know that, Private?” responded Sergeant Shannon.
“We’ll get them to turn around,” Herb promised.
“Just don’t compromise yourselves out there.”
“Don’t worry, Sergeant, I...”
“Corporal, just shut the hell up and listen to me. All of you, pay attention,” Sergeant Shannon demanded angrily as he glared at the men. The team stared at him with surprise on their faces. When the noncom was certain he had the undivided attention of the men, he added, “Let me make this perfectly clear to you men. If you come into contact with those people, then your asses will have to go into quarantine with them. There will be no exceptions. And just so you know it, you will be under constant observation, so there won’t be any accidental contact that doesn’t get reported.”
“It’ll be done your way, Sergeant,” Herb responded stiffly. He was gro
wing angry himself. He was being given a shitty mission and he knew it.
Sergeant Shannon stared at the corporal for a few seconds, as if he were trying to determine if the man was being honest with him. Finally, he nodded his head in acceptance of the man’s statement and said, “Get to it then. You’ll find several people in a raft they put together. They are trying to paddle across the river, but the raft is hard as hell for them to steer.” The sergeant pointed across the river to the lights along the water’s edge near some factory-sized structure. “At last report, they were over there by that building.”
The two, three-man teams got into separate large boats. “Good luck, men,” Sergeant Shannon said as he watched the teams leave for the mission.
The sixteen foot long by seven foot wide Sun Trackers sliced through the water with ease. Herb sat in the right forward seat of his boat, with Randy sitting in the seat to his left. The third team member was an experienced boat operator. He sat behind Herb at the controls. The Sun Trackers were pontoon boats that rode high in the water. Mercury 40 horsepower motors that could reach 24 miles per hour powered them. The twin 24-inch pontoon logs made the watercraft sit high in the water, so visibility from that platform was great in the daylight. That advantage wasn’t such a factor in the dark.
The two boats spread out and traveled across the river. Randy used a handheld spotlight to search for the raft, as did one of the men in the other boat. However, a larger and more powerful spotlight from the bridge was what illuminated their quarry for them.
“I see them!” shouted Randy. He pointed toward the ungainly makeshift raft and said, “There they are, Greg!”
“I can see them, you dummy,” Greg said irritably from his position at the controls. He shifted their course to come alongside the raft, as did the other team in their boat.
As they approached the people trying to escape Decatur, Herb ordered Greg to slow to one quarter throttle. He did this because he was afraid they would swamp the raft, which was barely staying afloat as it was.
“Randy, prepare the tow rope. Try not to fall out of the boat,” Herb said to his somewhat accident prone friend.
The other National Guard team slowed their speed to match that of Herb’s boat. As the two teams approached the raft, they had time to study the strange assortment of flotation devices that the people had duct taped together to make the crossing. Herb spotted water coolers, life jackets, inner tubes, and what looked like boat cushions that were designed to double as flotation devices.
As they drew closer, Herb saw the resigned expression on the faces of two of the women who were trying to paddle the raft. The man with them looked defiant. He continued trying to paddle, even though the two women stopped and pulled two small children closer to them protectively.
When they were within range for their forward momentum to take them near enough to the raft to cast the people a line, Greg killed the throttle and let them drift closer. The two Sun Trackers stopped about thirty feet from the raft.
“We’re going to toss you a line and tow you back to the Decatur side,” Herb explained.
“We won’t go back there! You can’t make us!” the man shouted angrily.
“I’m sorry. I mean that. I really am. But you have no choice. Our orders are to shoot you if you refuse to comply. We cannot permit the disease to break quarantine,” Herb explained.
“Going back means almost certain death for us,” one of the women responded.
“I understand the situation, but refusing is certain death,” Herb countered. Without taking his eyes off the people on the raft, which was sitting dangerously low in the water, he added, “Toss the man a rope, Randy.”
“At least take our children with you,” pleaded one of the women.
“I can’t,” Herb said. Refusing that request was the hardest thing he had ever had to do in his life.
“Toss the damned rope, Randy,” Herb said a second time. His frustration with their current situation caused him to be uncharacteristically short tempered with his friend.
“We’re really going to do this?” Randy asked. His voice sounded sad to Herb’s ears.
“Give it to me!” Herb demanded.
Randy shook his head and threw the rope toward the man on the raft. Randy’s toss was a good one. The rope landed in front of the man, but he refused to touch it. Herb pointed his M4 at the man’s head and flicked off the safety. “Don’t make me do this,” he said in a steely tone of voice that left little doubt in anyone’s mind that he was about to shoot the man. He added, “Alive, there is always hope. A dead man has none, and what will these people do without you?”
The man grabbed the rope and wrapped it around a couple of the cushions near him. “Take off slowly. This thing is held together with tape.”
Herb nodded his understanding, activated the safety on his rifle, and then pointed the muzzle up into the sky. “You people need food?”
“Yes, please,” one of the women said.
“Ante up, guys,” Herb said. The three men were each carrying a couple of energy bars and each of their small emergency packs contained an MRE. They pooled their resources, as did the team aboard the other boat. Both teams placed the meager supplies in a canvas bag and tossed them toward the man in the raft. He caught the one Randy threw with ease, but almost swamped the raft trying to catch the one thrown to him by the other team. Fortunately, for the refugees, he managed to retain his grip on it and pull it onto the raft with him.
“Can you give us a weapon?” asked the man hopefully.
“No,” said Herb with an air of finality. “You could turn that against us. Besides, from what I’ve seen, trying to fight these things isn’t the answer. Staying out of their sight is your best hope.”
“That might be hard to do with your boat towing us, and that damned spotlight from the bridge lighting us up,” the man stated.
“Let’s get going, Greg. Randy, be ready to shoot any of the zombies you see as we approach the shore. Remember to make it head shots. Once we cast off our lines, we are going to head along the shore back toward the bridge. We’ll use our spotlights to light up the shoreline and attract any of the crazies that may be lurking in the area. That’s the best we can do for these people.”
“Thank you,” one of the women said.
“Don’t thank him. He is probably signing our death warrants,” the man on the raft said.
Herb ignored him and motioned for Greg to begin the task of towing the raft back toward the shore.
They managed to get the raft close to the south bank of the river, and then Randy cut the towrope. They couldn’t pull it back in to use again because it had been in contact with the refugees.
A moaning sound came from the left along the shoreline. Randy’s spotlight searched the night until it stopped on one of the zombies about sixty yards away. It was moving toward the raft, which was just making it to the shore. Herb shot the thing in the head and watched as it went down. The people on the raft scrambled off it and headed for a nearby building.
Herb’s boat turned and headed back for the bridge, followed by the other guard team in their Sun Tracker. Both stayed at least fifty yards from the shoreline. Seven times, they saw zombies that had been attracted to the area by their weapons fire and spotlights. They shot them all. Once they reached the bridge, they turned and headed back for the boat harbor.
The teams were a quiet bunch of guardsmen when they stepped out of their boats and walked out of the boat harbor. Sergeant Shannon met them at their sleeping bags, near the barricades, when they stopped and began to get ready to go back to sleep. “I saw you men give those people your food, and then you tried to distract the zombies and kill any close to the civilians,” the sergeant said to the men.
Herb turned to face Sergeant Shannon, prepared to take his tongue-lashing without complaint. He had no regrets about the meager assistance he had ordered rendered to the people on the raft. If he had it to do over again, he wouldn’t change a thing.
“Wel
l done, men. You went on a tough mission, and did the best you could for the civilians. Maybe they’ll make it, thanks to you guys.”
Herb nodded his acceptance of the sergeant’s praise, but said nothing.
“Get some rest, men. You still have time to sleep a few hours before you go back on duty in the morning,” the sergeant said.
When Sergeant Shannon left, Herb crawled back in his sleeping bag.
“Do you think they’ll make it?” Randy asked.
“No, I don’t think they will. They’ll eventually fall victim to the zombies. There are more of them every day,” Herb responded.
Randy sighed and was silent for a while, and then he said, “We didn’t have any choice though. They could be infected.”
“I know. Let’s get some sleep if we can. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow,” Herb said.
The next day, a Guard unit from Tennessee that had driven in to assist in the quarantine duty replaced Herb’s squad. The men were given the afternoon and night off, and told to report back at the bridge early the next day.
That night, Herb watched the news and learned that the CDC had made some major discoveries regarding the zombies. The patients transferred from Decatur General Hospital had been transported to a CDC medical research facility, located in Georgia, where testing had revealed that a heretofore unknown parasite, which they named the Akins microbe because of the name of patient zero, was present in each of the people. They also learned that the organisms had taken control of the host bodies and killed them.
How the Akins parasites were able to reanimate the dead people was still a mystery, but the CDC was advising that they not be regarded as human beings any longer. They were advising law enforcement officials to target the heads of the undead as wounds to the torso that would normally prove fatal had little effect on them.
Herb also learned that the zombies had spread both east and west from Decatur, and seemed to be tracking along the Tennessee River. Containment had been broken. They had sent those civilians back into that hell the previous night when the quarantine had already failed to contain the spread of the zombies.
