The Romero Strain: A Zombie Novel

by Ts Alan

  “Holy gravy,” I said, half-questioning Sam’s choice of words. “I think you watched too much Rachel Ray.”

  “Yeah, Holy gravy! Do you realize how much food we have here?”

  “Military rations suck,” Kermit said with disdain, then added, “There’s nothing like a real cooked meal.”

  “No, you guys don’t get it. Those are first strike rations. The FSR is a compact, eat-on-the-move assault ration designed for use during initial periods of highly intense, highly mobile combat operations. They’re awesome.”

  “Normally, at this point in the conversation, I would crack wise. But since you’re literally as happy as a kid in a candy store, I’ll give you a pass.”

  Sam responded, defending his knowledge. “It’s not like we got The New York Times delivered everyday. It was a lot of Stars and Stripes, Soldiers and RDECOM magazine, and watching a lot of the Military Channel. That’s why I know so much!”

  “Body bags, Sam, body bags,” I instructed.

  The large pallet of rations Sam stood by read, MEAL, READY-TO-EAT, INDIVIDUAL. In smaller letters it read, Do not rough handle when frozen. The far side of the box was stamped Dairy Shakes, Chocolate. I cut open the box and pulled out one of the cases. I sliced the seal open and pulled out a packet from the large box. In the package was a plastic flexi-pouch with a thin cardboard protective outer case sealed in clear plastic. I turned the ration package sideways and read the capital letter instructions: TEAR POUCH AT NOTCHES. OPEN ZIPPER, ADD 6 OZ (1/4 CANTEEN CUP TO FILL LINE. CLOSE ZIPPER. SHAKE TO MIX. SINGLE USE ONLY. CONSUME PROMPTLY. (WITHIN 1 HOUR). I turned it over, read the ingredients imprinted on the back, and found out why it was only good for an hour. I quickly tossed the package back into the individual case.

  There were more pallets of rations. Sam would later volunteer to do supply inventory and was excited to report that the boxes contained meal pouches of shelf-stable pocket sandwiches (varieties including barbecue chicken and barbecue beef), HooAH! nutritious booster bars, which were similar to commercial performance bars, energy rich glucose optimized beverage mix, dairy bar, crackers, bread, cheese spread, two sticks of beef jerky, a package of dried fruit, a modified version of applesauce named “Zapplesauce,” pouches of tuna, chunk chicken, caffeinated gum, a Ziploc bag, and an accessory packet which included a wet napkin. But what truly excited Sam were the pallets of what he told us was the greatest food invention the military ever came up with––though Kermit refuted this emphatically––the unitized group ration-express, or as Sam liked calling it: a kitchen in a box.

  The UGR-E box prepared hot meals for eighteen people with the pull of a tab. To heat the meal, a soldier merely opened the box, then, without removing anything, pulled a tab that released a salt-water solution that reacted chemically and heated the four trays of food in about thirty-five minutes. That was the simplistic version of how the UGR-E works. I made Sam give us the synopsis, not the full rendition.

  * * *

  Surprisingly, I didn’t know much about the armory building with the exception that it had been the home court of the New York Knicks professional basketball team from 1946 through 1950, and that it was a national registered landmark.

  The administration building extended the full length of the block along Lexington Avenue, 25th to 26th Street. It was a three-story brick structure with limestone trim, topped by a high two-story roof with two slopes on each of the four sides. I was sure that style of roof had some architectural name, but architecture was something I was clueless about. The main elements of the building’s essentially symmetrical composition were two slightly projecting cornerstone end pavilions articulating the building’s corners, and a massive, deeply recessed arched entry way in the center bay. The arch was formed with concentric rows of brick headers. A sculptured winged eagle formed the keystone of the entry arch.

  The interior was retro-like. In reality, it was antiquated, apparently having never been updated, harkening back to the days of the Knicks. The upper walls of the gallery area had been painted mostly in a hideous pea green color, while the walls of the main level of the hall were white with green trim. A balcony surrounded the inner perimeter of the drill hall. There were staircases at each corner that lead up to the gallery to tattered and worn seats that were once filled by eager fans during the golden days of the team. The western wall displayed a large rectangular orange sign with large black lettering that read, Next Home Game. Above it hung a large cream-colored banner with a heavy red border, dirtied from time, touting 69th N.Y. Above that was a large, circular, hand-sweep clock, which we later discovered was broken, just another useless relic of the past. There were even black and white fallout shelter signs mounted on some of the drill hall walls—reminders of our Cold War past.

  We spent the day exploring the vast armory. We found lots of medical supplies in a small four-story hospital wing at the southwest corner of the lot, identical in detailing to the administration building.

  Though we were cautious making our way to the basement of the building, the odds were greatly in our favor that there were no transmutes lurking in the darkness. Basements were exactly what they sounded like––a substructure of a building. Transmutes were part owl, and like owls they took refuge in high places to keep predators at bay and to look out for food. The basement was too dark and dank, even for an owl, though I wasn’t too sure about the new creatures. We set up one of Sam’s portable light systems.

  The underground garage was large and revealed the reason for the lack of power to the building. It wasn’t the outside generator at fault; it was the connection to the electrical boxes. The power cable that had run out the basement window to the junction box at street level was not a cable that was receiving power, but had been supplying power. The armory didn’t need to receive power from an outside source to maintain itself. It already had two backup generators of its own installed. After studying the generators and large fuse boxes on the basement wall, we came to a conclusion: one generator had been re-routed to the street to help support the electrification of the perimeter fencing, while the other generator continued to supply electricity to vital parts of the building. The cable Sam believed fed the armory was connected to the faulty fuse box. That was why the lights inside the building failed to come on when he engaged the power on the outdoor generator. Sam was off the hook for poor electrician skills.

  Once the generators were refueled we were able to see the full extent of what was concealed in the cellar. In the main area we found another cache of supplies. There were a few boxes of hand grenades and a few boxes of ammunition for the M16 grenade launchers, but no rocket propelled grenades, no Claymore antipersonnel mines, and no semi-automatic sniper rifles. Just a lot of ammunition for side arms and rifles, along with a lot of NBC (nuclear, biological, chemical) suits, several cars and vans, and leftover fencing and razor wire.

  We found body bags, but to our shock we had also found most of the missing soldiers. Two rows of white bags had been lined up on the floor along the south wall. The bodies had liquefied, and even though the bags were made of heavy plastic to prevent leakage, they were not seepage proof. The stench was overwhelming. The bodies were months past being bloaters. They were even beyond poppers; just bones and remnants of clothing soaked in fetid bodily fluids. We counted forty-three bags, each with written information in black marker on the plastic surface: name, rank, service number, company designation and date of death.

  They were the soldiers of the 1st Battalion, 69th Infantry Regiment (Mechanized), A and E Companies, and soldiers from the 3-2 Stryker Brigade.

  Later, when I combed through the military records of the armory, I would discover the rich history of the Fighting 69th—some of its earlier history I had already known.

  The regiment, whose roots could be traced back to the American Revolution when they were a militia unit, had served in combat in four wars and nineteen campaigns, including the American Civil War, World War I, World War II, Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operation
Noble Eagle. Their last campaign, the one against a microscopic enemy, was designated Operation Guardian Eagle. However there were only a few operational reports that described the activities prior to the armory’s demise. It was a small journal left by the regimental commander that chronicled the heroic but tragic end to the great fighting regiment that truly shed light on the real terror of what transpired, and the horrors the soldiers endured as the plague and the undead forced the companies to barricade themselves inside the walls of their armory, effectively entombing themselves.

  His journal presented a chilly account of the last days of mankind, a fascinating yet horrifying read compared to the concise, unemotional daily activity reports, the few that there had been. The armory had been the Medical Command and the rear Supply Command post. However, the medical hospital located there was not for the medical needs of the city’s residents, but for those of the deployed troops, and was maintained by the 10th Support Brigade Troops Battalion out of Fort Drum, New York. Strategic Command had been set up at Madison Square Garden as the command post for the headquarters of the Guardian Brigade, and for the USAMRIID. It was the major P.O.D. for Manhattan. There was also a combat sustainment command post setup at the Javits Center for supply and transportation, maintenance, engineering, and the signal corps.

  According to the commander, by the time their NBC suits arrived, it was already too late. He feared everyone had been infected, a fear that he later wrote had come to fruition before the first day was over. Out of necessity, and following the orders of his superiors, he was forced to shoot the men under his command, some of whom he had known for many years, some friends. By early the second day, the commander realized that saving the city from the devastating plague was not going to happen. The living dead outnumbered the living and were attempting to breach the fortifications. As a last ditch effort, he ordered all personnel to fall back into the armory and he ordered the electrification of the gating. However, as the troops retreated, the hordes of living dead were so overwhelming that the electrified perimeter failed. By the time the soldiers had begun to secure the first set of heavy wooden entrance doors, the undead set upon them; fortunately, they were able to secure the inner doors.

  As more and more of his soldiers fell ill, he found that a handful showed no signs of the infection. By the early morning of day two, headquarters ordered an evacuation of all remaining military personnel from New York City. Those who showed no signs of infection were to be extracted by rescue helicopter; all others were to be terminated. The commander ordered seven soldiers to the roof for extraction; however, he wrote that the fate of the remaining ill was in the hands of God. He would never know the fate of either group. Having nearly succumbed to the virus, he had chosen to take his own life. The last words he wrote, before he shot himself in the head while sitting at his desk were, “Faugh an Beallach.” It was the battle cry of the regiment and meant clear the way.

  VI. A New World Order

  Our first staff meeting was brief, but to the point. We gathered to discuss inventory and what needed to be repaired.

  “First. Thanks to all of you for suffering through the past three days while we disposed of the bodies and cleaned up transmute shit.”

  Three days of smelling and removing wretched rotting corpses—from inside and outside the armory—and disinfecting the armory’s gallery from all the feces left behind by the transmutes, we had found a construction site a few blocks east, a deep hole in the ground which was in the process of being dug out for a foundation of a new building. The worst part of the disposal was removing the bodies of the fallen soldiers of the 69th Regiment and 3-2 Stryker Brigade, the ones who had liquefied within their body bags. Those honorable fighting men were not callously and without emotion tossed in the pit and lit ablaze. Out of respect we prayed over the bodies to honor them before we torched them.

  “Kermit, you first buddy. What’s our food stock like?”

  “Sam and I compiled a list of food items. Our current provisions are mostly MREs. Pallet upon pallet. Enough to last us a year if we can keep the mice and rats out of them. However, even with the varieties at hand, I’m sure you’ll be sick of eating them after six weeks, with the exception of Sam.” Everyone laughed at the joke, except Sam. “We need staple items like powdered milk, powdered eggs, canned potatoes, canned meats, and so on. The more the better. We are also in dire need of an electric stove. I can’t cook unless I have one.”

  “I’m all ready sick of MREs,” I answered him. “We can hit the large grocery stores at Union Square. However, I think it simpler to convert to propane, instead of trying to find an electric stove. I know two places where we can acquire gas. Which brings me to you, Sam. Transportation. I see you’ve turned 25th Street into a parking lot. How many of them are functioning?”

  “Including the ones from Grand Central, we have three ICVs, five Humvees and a LMTV up and running. It’ll take me a couple more days for the rest. And the vehicles in the basement are also functional.”

  “You’ve been a busy boy.”

  “I will need to cannibalize the other Stryker at Grand Central if you want your medical Stryker working. And FYI, I haven’t spotted any other Strykers in our travels, so I should cannibalize it no matter what. Also the refuel tanker is good to go.”

  I nodded. “Three Strykers are plenty. I was reading over some of the paperwork found in the commander’s office. This facility was setup for use as an army hospital, not as a P.O.D., hence the large amount of triage and surgical supplies. I’m not sure why there is such a large amount of food, but even though they are MREs, let’s be thankful we have food on hand. I found out that several Strykers were deployed to Madison Square Garden, which was the Strategic Command and the main P.O.D. for the five boroughs. Also, in the base commander’s report there was a mention of the 548th Corps Support Battalion setting up an ASC at the Javits Center. Kermit, do you know what that means?”

  I may have been an avid film watcher, war films being one of my favorite genres, but this in no way made me an expert in military acronyms, protocols or procedures. I knew what a support battalion was, sort of; it was there to support the troops. What I didn’t know was what exactly the support battalion did. I was about to have my military knowledge enhanced.

  “The 548th Corps Support Battalion would be the quartermaster battalion for the theater of engagement,” he told us all. “There would be several attachments to the battalion that would carry out vehicle maintenance, transportation, supply, and clothing and laundry service from the staging area.”

  “Excellent,” I said, nodding my thanks to Kermit’s answer.

  Sam raised his hand.

  “Yes?” I responded, hoping he was going to ask a question and not start spouting another chapter from his brain book on the military.

  “The 548th is part of the 10th Mountain Division (Light Infantry), 10th Sustainment Brigade out of Fort Drum, New York. The 590th FSC, the 57th Transportation Company and the 514th Maintenance Company, and probably the 59th Chemical Company, would have been assigned there.”

  To my dismay Sam was rattling off his miscellaneous knowledge of the United States Army instead of adding something useful.

  I responded to his prattling. “And I needed to know this, why?”

  “Because I was stationed at Fort Drum for a year,” he proudly stated. “And I thought you might like to know that we could find vehicle parts there, and I wouldn’t have to spend time salvaging what we need.”

  I was pleasantly surprised. “Wow! That was actually useful… and here I thought you were just going to show off again. And, Sam,” I addressed him again. “Facilities repairs. Did you complete the list?”

  “Yes. My recommendations are in my report, ranked in order of necessity. I’ve also included a list of items we will need to remove from the GCC, such as communications and surveillance equipment. We may be able to get some of it from the ASC.”

  “Fine. Give me your reports at the end and I’ll make assignments acc
ordingly. David… how’s the reconstruction of the fencing going?”

  “Nearly complete,” he replied. “However, if we sustain any further damage we may have a problem. There’s going to be little fencing left when I’m done. Maybe they’d have some over at that ASC, since they probably were the ones who installed it.”

  “All right, listen. Before we go running off in hopes of finding fencing and Stryker parts we should take a few things into consideration. First is the half-mutes, and then there’s the unknown factor. We don’t know who survived. Could be no one, but then again, could be survivors have claimed the Javits and the Garden, which means they’ll be armed and maybe hostile. We need to have everything up, running, and secured before we venture too far from the armory. I do agree, though, the ASC would be an optimal choice for finding items that we’re going to need.”

  I looked at Kermit. “Perhaps, Kermit, you and I can meet and discuss a tactical plan for recon on those bases?” Kermit nodded his head in agreement. “Excellent,” I concurred. “Then let us move on.” I looked around the table to see who was next in line. “Marisol. I understand that you were working with Sam on the exterior lighting. Any progress?”

  “Finished a few hours ago. We can turn them on any time you want.”

  “That’s something we should not do immediately.”

  “I thought you wanted them fixed so people would know we are here,” she said. “We even pointed some of them toward the sky.”

  “Great. But I think it would be premature to broadcast our occupation until we are fully secure. The lights will hopefully attract survivors, but we can’t assume everyone will be looking for assistance. We may find that there are those who would want what we have for themselves.”

  “That’s being a bit cynical, isn’t it?”

  “No, Julie. That’s being a realist. We need to make sure we are safe and prepared before we open our doors to everyone. Like the old adage, better safe than sorry. Anyone disagree with me aside from Julie?”