by W. J. Lundy
“We lost contact with Collins shortly after receiving the patient’s file. My team was scrambled and, even using our longest range helicopter, by the time we reached Collins we were flying in on fumes. We could see from the air that the compound was lost. We circled and tried to find a safe landing zone, but the infected were heavily massed in all directions. There were signs of survivors and some sporadic vehicle traffic, so we tried to fly low and signal anyone alive on the ground… but it just drew in more infected.
“Our intent was to refuel at Collins for the return trip. With that scratched, we had no place to land that was clear of infected. They’re drawn to helicopters, so every LZ we attempted was swarmed over before we got close. We ran to the sea—“
“We found your friend, here, bobbing in a life raft fifteen miles off the coast,” Stuart said.
Sean pushed away from the table and stood. “This is a lost cause. If the Fort was overrun, then why did you bring us here? And Doctor, if this trip was so goddamned important, then why didn’t they send another bird after you dropped off the radar?”
Howard stood with him. “I don’t know why they didn’t send another team. Maybe they did. Don’t you understand? There could still be samples in the medical facility! We have to try!”
Stuart raised his hands. “Please sit,” he said in a calm voice. “Chief, you asked earlier what we were doing out here. Communications between our nations went quiet nearly a month ago. Things at home are pretty grim, there is no cure in sight, and most of our population is held up behind walls the same as yours is.
“This is why we are here. We’re looking for something—anything—that can help. Now, Chief, why are you here? What are you and your men willing to do to help end this?” Stuart finished.
CHAPTER 7
Shane opened his eyes and looked up at the sun still high above him. He put his head back against the pack. Keeping his eyes open, he strained his ears for any sounds of threats. If he stretched his neck, he could just see over the tips of the grass. A breeze was coming from the road and blowing toward him. It made the grass move in subtle waves and when the edges of the grass touched, it made a light whisking sound. Growing up hunting, he could pick up on the subtle differences in sounds between that of wild game and Mother Nature; the cracking of a twig or the rustle of dried leaves that could indicate a small deer or rabbit. Today the sound of a gentle breeze through the meadow was soothing. He allowed himself to lower his guard and settle back into the hide.
The girl was moving now; Shane could feel her squirm against his skin. He would allow her to sleep a bit longer since she needed her rest. Ella asked about her mom the last time he spoke to her. It’d been a while since she’d mentioned her mother. He could tell by the look in her eyes when she asked the question that she thought of her mother constantly. The toll the grief and travel took on the child was beginning to show. She was losing weight and rarely slept soundly at night. It’d been so long since he could provide her a secure place.
Shane watched the grass and thought about the night the fort fell; the night before he found her. He didn’t know how the creatures had gotten inside. Maybe they just became too much for the iron gates to hold back. Maybe a wound had been overlooked on one of the guards. The firing came loud and rapidly, shattering the night. It could be heard over the screaming of the civilians and over the moans of the things pushing their way through the fences.
Shane was sleeping on the floor of the tower when it started. He was used to gunfire—it had become common in the fort over the last month—but what Shane heard from outside the tower that night was something different. The gunfire was sporadic and rapid. Panicked, the screaming of the soldiers jolted him awake. He was in the darkened center of the guard tower where his team had been living. He thought it was another bad dream, but the sounds of fighting came through the walls and the bright lights broke in through heavy tarps they’d hung over the windows.
He reached for his rifle and scrambled to the outer catwalk of the hastily erected tower in the corner of the fort. Flares were being launched, supplementing the bright generator-powered spotlights. Heavy machine guns and the crack of grenades joined the concert of noise. He could see the things mixed in with the crowds, the bloodied and screaming men swarming the guards at the gate. Soldiers ran in all directions, firing into the massed mob. Shane saw his own two man team standing in shock, their backs pressed against the tower, rifles resting in their shaking hands. He ordered them to fire.
“What are we shooting at?” a private stuttered.
Shane looked at the chaos before he was able to comprehend the soldier’s question. There were no clear targets. Screaming, raging people mixed in with panicked civilians were running through gaps in the fences, mauling and overpowering the guards. Some soldiers had taken up positions on the roofs of buildings. Others stood on top of vehicles while frantically trying to shoot into the crowds to stop the flood of infected. A Humvee was racing through the compound and bouncing the infected off of its heavy steel brush guards. A gunner in the Humvee’s turret was firing rapidly to cut down paths of the crazed men that were fighting to get at the vehicle.
“If they aren’t holding a rifle, kill them,” Shane yelled.
Shane raised his own weapon and stepped to the rail. He fired steadily, trying to make every round count. He heard his men join the fight alongside him but when he observed the battle on the ground he knew the camp was lost. Too many had gotten inside. From his elevated position he could see the front gate that he himself had walked through weeks ago. It was open and the sand bag barriers tumbled over. The armory building was still secured but the things were pressed against the doors. Windows had been shattered and the things were trying to get inside. The compound’s outer walls were still standing, but the grounds were covered with infected. It was hopeless.
He realized too late that he should have been thinking about escape and leading his men out of the tower. They were all around him—the tower was surrounded, his own team’s gunfire had drawn them in. Shane looked down and saw the things trying to climb the tower walls. As more of them pressed against the tower, it began to shudder and shake under his feet. The gunfire from other parts of the camp had slowed. Shane saw the Humvee had finally been overwhelmed and was resting against a wall of the armory. Shane smiled; he knew there would be no retreat, no escape. This was it, his pain would end tonight. He looked to the privates standing with him. “If you want to make a break… now is the time, guys. I won’t fault you for it. I’ll cover you,” he said to them.
The men had talked about what they would do in this situation, how they would escape. Sliding down to the far side of the wall had always been the least desirable choice. The tower stood in a corner of the compound; it was thirty feet up and a hell of a drop, but the privates had decided to risk the drop and attempt to jump to the far side of the fence. So far, the back corner of the compound’s outside lawn was clear. They would have a long run if they made it to the ground, but with Shane providing cover fire, there was a chance they could make it to the tree line.
Every soldier at the fort was issued a grenade. It was an inside joke that the grenades were to be used on themselves to make sure they wouldn’t turn, but now Shane would use them to help his men escape. They passed him their grenades and Shane wished them luck. A heavy rope was tied to the rail and they threw it over a portion of the catwalk that hung slightly beyond the perimeter wall. The first private quickly slid down the rope to the open ground on the far side of the fence. The things on the ground quickly caught onto what they were doing. The last soldier stepped over the rail and asked Shane to join them. He shook his head and told the man to go. Some of the infected ran directly at the fence trying to get to the private sliding down the rope to the far side. Others ran for the gate, trying to circle around, but the majority of the infected continued to push and heave against the tower.
The ones running to the gate became Shane’s priority. He pulled the pin on the first
grenade and threw it as hard as he could at the breach in the gate. The grenade landed in a mass of them and the explosion launched the bodies like a popped balloon while ripping body parts away to be scattered on the ground. The explosion had disoriented them, yet drew others to the loud blast. Shane pulled the pin on the second grenade and aimed for a new mass forming farther away. The grenade fell short but still rolled into the group. The blast had the same effect, knocking the things off their feet and tearing others apart. He saw them turn their hate filled eyes in his direction, suddenly forgetting about his men running across the open field.
Just below him, a tall male covered in blood and tattoos and naked to the waist, looked Shane in the eyes and screamed at him. Shane paused his firing as he saw what was happening; the other infected stopped, turned to look at the screaming man, then focused on the tower and ran at it. Shane stared back at the man in surprise. He was calling the others.
“They are fucking crazed!” Shane said out loud, still holding his fire.
Shane looked over his shoulder, saw that his men had made the tree line, then lifted his M4 and aimed at the screaming man. “Say good night!” he yelled as he pulled the trigger and put an aimed round into the tattoo-covered man’s face, silencing him forever.
He shifted his point of aim, killing more of the screaming beasts until his rifle was dry. He reloaded, took his time, and placed carefully aimed shots into the tops of the heads of the creatures below him, regardless of how futile it seemed. Knowing each skillfully placed shot put one of them out of its misery, he continued firing until he was out of ammo and no more magazines hung from his vest. The tower again buckled hard under his feet and he fell toward the rail. He barely caught himself before nearly falling into the mass below. Another impact of the tower threw him away from the rail and back toward the enclosed space.
The door of the enclosure was swinging open. Shane ran for it, but a shudder of the tower caused him to lose his footing. He fell as he cleared the opening and rolled to the floor inside. He quickly got back to his feet and leaned against the far wall. Shane could hear the wood supports of the tower creaking as the heavy pine beams began to split. He pulled his own personal grenade from the pouch located on his belt, kissed it, and looked up at the ceiling of the small room.
“See you soon, Brothers,” he said aloud as he reached to pull the pin.
A thunderous crack exploded in his ears, followed by the floor dropping from beneath his feet. The grenade slipped from his hand when he bounced off the ceiling of the enclosure. He saw white flashes of light and felt searing pain in his face while the tower toppled and he, again, smacked his face against a wall, then the floor. The tower crashed against the perimeter fence, halting the structure’s fall. The sudden stop again tossing Shane into the now splintered and crumbling walls. The roof of the enclosure collapsed on top of him and trapped him in the wreckage. His head was spinning; his vision closing, blackness filling his sight. He struggled to free himself as the last of his strength left his body. The sounds of the screaming beasts softened and everything was suddenly quiet and peaceful. Shane allowed himself to relax giving into temptation to rest. It was over. He was done.
“Shane,” he heard a voice call softly.
He heard more of them calling his name… calling him home. He squinted hard and struggled to open his eyes. He wanted to see the light.
****
The unmistakable sounds of a low flying helicopter woke him. He heard the screaming of the mob fade as they lost interest in the fort and chased after the sound of the aircraft. Pain seared through his injured back, his face had swollen, and his eyes were hard to open. Shane twisted and contorted his body, pushing against the wreckage until he was free. He pulled at the edge of a broken board and was suddenly sliding fast. He lost grip on the board, tumbled to the ground, and landed flat on his back, yelping in agony.
Shane rolled to his side and lay motionless, trying to breathe quietly, surprised he hadn’t already been attacked. Bodies lay all around him on the ground. The sun was breaking the horizon and the orange glow of morning lit the camp. He squinted his eyes and focused on his surroundings. The armory doors were now broken and hung twisted on their hinges. As he slowly turned his head to look at the grounds, he found nothing still on its feet. Most of the active infected had already gone to shelter during the day, or were led away by the unknown helicopter.
Shane twisted and pushed himself into a seated position. He saw his rifle on the ground near him. He crawled towards the M4, picked it up, and used it as a crutch to push himself to his feet. He stood in a crouched position—standing upright caused more pain in his back. Shane thought of the open gate and about making a run for the tree line, where maybe he could find his men from last night. No, he reasoned, he wouldn’t get far in his condition. His rifle was empty and he needed to treat his injuries. His eyes drifted to the armory. He knew there could be more infected hiding inside, but there was also a small arms room and an expansive aid station in the back office spaces. There would be pain meds and food.
He stood for a moment longer, listening, trying to slow his breathing to sharpen his senses. His head slowly rotated from left to right scanning everything. When he made a full movement, he started again, this time looking farther out. The fort had been destroyed. Wreckage and bodies were everywhere, but to his good fortune there were no signs of the standing infected; although he could still hear them in the distance.
Shane had picked up on their tones over the last few weeks in the tower. Like the beagles he used to hunt with as a boy growing up in Georgia, when these things were on the hunt for prey, their moan would change pitch and he could tell they were on a trail. The moan they used was to call others in the pack to join them. He shook his head as he recognized the animal instincts of the things were not unlike the stories of humans turning into werewolves. Things that had been office workers and store clerks were now mindless beasts on the hunt for meat.
They must be tracking other survivors from the fort, he thought. Shane had heard stories of the things moving into small towns, completely sacking it, and then tracking any of those lucky enough to escape on and into the next city. He knew he needed to move, get on the trail before they captured whatever they were after and began searching again. He needed to take advantage of the daylight when the packs tended to lay low and return to whatever dens the monsters called home.
He moved closer to the doorway of the armory and pressed his shoulder to the wall, letting it take some of the weight off of his aching back. Shane pondered going to his small living area at the back of the fort. He had a pack there and some meager belongings. But that would take him too far into the fort and he needed to move quickly and leave, to get away from this place before they returned. He leaned his body so that he could see down the long hallway to the open bay at the end. That was where the treatment areas were, as well as stores of food and ammunition. That immediately became his goal—to re-equip for the trail. Shane checked the watch on his wrist. He would give himself ten minutes to gather what he needed then get out.
Listening at the doorway, he heard nothing. Shane moved his hand to the back of his hip and felt the cold handle of his M9 Bayonet. He used his thumb to unsnap the small retainer strap and pulled the weapon from its sheath. As quietly as possible, he secured the blade to the small lug at the end of his rifle. Taking a deep breath, he let his body absorb the pain, stood upright, and pivoted into the hallway. No time for second guessing, he moved quickly and deliberately while sweeping the rifle in front of him, ready to lunge at any enemy.
He saw an armed man dead on the ground. Shane walked just past him then knelt down. With the expertise of a veteran soldier, he reached with his left hand and removed the magazine from the man’s weapon. Without dropping his gaze from down the hall, he lifted the box magazine to his eye. It was empty. Shane knelt lower and let his left hand search the sticky uniform of the man until he found his magazine pouches, then he felt the man’s chest and l
ocated his unused grenade. Shane lifted it and attached it to the front of his own vest. Without losing focus, he raised himself back up and continued down the hallway. Shane encountered more bodies but, knowing he had to move quickly and get out of the building, passed over them unless they were obviously armed. As he approached the open bay, he’d still failed to acquire any ammo.
Shane moved into the bay, pivoting as he moved toward the far corner where he knew the supplies were kept. The floor in the area had less bodies, but the space had still been turned over with obvious signs of battle. He inched between two pallets of food boxes and crept toward a hasty stack of ammo cans. Scattered all around them were the green cloth bandoleers and speed loaders normally packaged with military ammo. His heartbeat began to quicken as he realized all of the cans were empty. The defenders had expended all of it in their fight.
He dropped his head and exhaled, moving back toward the food pallets. He heard a metallic crunch under his boot and froze. Shane let his right arm drift to his boot and grinned when he felt the loose pile of rounds. He pulled off his patrol cap and set it on the floor next to him, then slowly swept his hand along the floor to gather the rounds. When he finished, he looked at his watch; he only had a few minutes before his deadline. He looked into the cap and saw he had gathered less than 20 rounds. It would have to do.
Shane shifted his focus onto the food stores. He used the end of his bayonet to cut away at the shrink wrap, and as he reached into the ripped plastic, he heard a muffled whimper and froze. Holding his breath and listening intently, he heard the whimper again. It was a child’s voice. Shane rose up between the pallets and searched the walls. One of the medical doors was barricaded shut. A number of black-clad guards lay dead on the ground in front of the barrier.
