by Lundy, W. J.
More salvos of gunfire echoed. A distant police siren joined the chaotic symphony of sounds as the screams intensified.
Gyles made a quick turn, surveying the grounds, then looked back at the colonel. “We’ve got the high ground; we can make this work for a while. All we need to do is gas up the bird, and we can be on our way. How many people do you have here? I’m sure we can squeeze you all in.”
Jessup pulled back against the fence and leaned in closer. “Sergeant, you still haven’t said what it is we’re up against.”
The veteran soldier turned and faced him. “You ever watched one of those movies where everyone has gone mad? Monsters come out of the dark for no reason to attack and kill everything they can get at? Well, it’s like that, only a million times worse. They surrounded and overran us in a matter of minutes. They ran full-sprint into my shooters. They took out two of my squads, swarming and tearing my men apart with their bare hands. Colonel, these were not rioters or panicked civilians fleeing an outbreak. Whatever it was, they came at us and showed no mercy, no restraint. They didn’t stop until we killed every one of them.”
When Gyles paused and met the colonel’s eyes, the older man’s face had turned pale. “Then the stories are true?”
“Stories?”
“We had reports come in from the air crews. Unbelievable things about police roadblocks destroyed. Hospitals attacked with no survivors; nurses, doctors, the wounded… everyone dead. We–we thought it was just the fog of war; you know, panicked soldiers talking shit.”
From the city, more sirens filled the air as a stream of automatic weapons fire was followed by an explosion that flashed a glow of light and a bright ball of fire into the sky. Jessup looked in the direction of the flames and pointed. “That’s Vines’s only fuel station. What the hell is happening down there?”
Gyles bit his lower lip. “Get your people rounded up and ready to move. We can’t stay here long. We’ll have to find another spot or see if we can get to Fort Belvoir… convoy out over road if we have to.”
The colonel spun around and grabbed Gyles’s shoulder. He shook his head solemnly. “Sergeant, we can’t leave. And this place won’t hold up without your help.” Jessup looked toward the steel-walled building then pointed at the nearly full visitor parking lot outside the fence. “I have civilians inside. Some of the soldiers brought their families to camp for safekeeping before they rolled out this morning. How was I supposed to turn them away?”
“You have family members inside the armory?” Gyles furled his brow. “Are you serious? In there?”
Jessup frowned and shook his head. “I had to allow it. What choice did I have? Half my people wouldn’t have shown up for duty if I refused. Presidential order and backing of the governor or not, these are National Guard troops. Our families don’t have a base to go to like your active duty guys. You do not just wake them up in the middle of the night and say come to work. Your families are in danger but leave them and get here. Especially with Washington all over the news and broadcasters talking about civil war. My people are dedicated, but they wouldn’t abandon their families.” Jessup paused before saying, “I wouldn’t have asked them to.”
Gyles nodded his understanding. “Okay, they are here, so now what?”
“I don’t know… Hell, I had no idea things would be this bad when my boys departed this morning.”
“Well, you aren’t alone on that assumption,” Gyles grunted. “How many are in there? What kind of numbers are we talking about?”
Jessup put his hand to his chin and dragged his fingers over the gray stubble. “Over a hundred. I had a few more come through the gate a couple hours ago. Some of my troops were able to get a call home before they moved again to Fort Belvoir. With what they saw in Washington, they sent their families to the armory. I know it violates protocol, but like I said, we won’t turn away our own.”
Gyles looked back at his men behind him. He wiped sweat from his forehead before saying, “My people have families too. I’d want Stewart to take them in if they could.”
“We all have someone,” Jessup said.
“Your family here?” Gyles asked.
Jessup frowned and sighed. “No—they are with my wife out West, touring college campuses. I was supposed to travel out and meet them this weekend.” The colonel rubbed his eyes. “What about you, Sergeant? You have family out there?”
Gyles shrugged. “She’s with her parents up North.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Gyles nodded his head, exhaling loudly, then turned to look back at Weaver. The soldier shot him a shrug and grinned. Gyles knew his people would stick with him no matter what he decided. If they got back on the Chinook and left now, nobody would question him. They wouldn’t leave these people defenseless after what they’d just seen. Gyles turned back to the colonel and said, “We got your back, sir. We ain’t going nowhere; not without everyone.”
Chapter Seven
Day of Infection Plus Seven, 0930 Hours
The Vineyards National Guard Armory Vines, Virginia.
“You know if they come the way they did at the lab, we won’t be able to stop them, G-Man,” Weaver said as he walked the armory with Gyles, inspecting the preparations. “What the hell are we doing here?”
The remaining men of India Company, Second Platoon, were working feverishly to reinforce the compound. The soldiers had seen the enemy firsthand, and that fear motivated them to get things right. The armory’s vehicles were now parked defensively in every corner, the open hatches of the armored Humvees ready with the platoon’s own machine gunners mounting their weapons in the turrets.
The soldiers moved methodically, the way they’d done just a few months ago in the desert. It wasn’t a new practice for his men to move in and secure a compound. It was old hat for them, but this flavor of fear was new, and it was a new kind of enemy. They were on edge and jumpy; they wanted to be far away from all of it. The men wanted to go home, they wanted to hear from their families, they wanted to mourn for their friends. Even in the war zone, they hadn’t faced the losses like they had that morning.
Gyles watched his men prep the armored vehicles, each now topped off with fuel. The platoon sergeant hoped the men could drop into the armored vehicles and use them for cover if the things breached the outer walls. The Chinook remained in the same spot. Fully fueled, it was ready to launch and provide air support until its guns ran dry.
Rose and the men of the air crew stoically guarded the rear ramp, ready to go at a moment’s notice. The pilots had suggested using the bird to ferry the civilians to Fort Belvoir. If they packed it full, they could do it in three to four round trips. After considering it would take most of the day, and that the noise of the Chinook would bring attention to the camp, they dismissed the idea. There was also a real concern that once the CH-47 arrived at Belvoir, they would not be allowed to leave again, effectively stranding all of them without air support.
The sergeant swallowed dryly and watched men pull a long string of wire outside the perimeter. The armory had shipping containers full of gear, and his men were having a good time utilizing it. It was easier to reinforce this existing position than to start over somewhere else. Desperate for every hour, every hour was used to build up the compound. He waited nervously, the intensity of the violence in the distant town increasing. He knew it was only a matter of time before it reached them up on the hilltop.
Weaver stepped closer and looked at his friend. “You okay, man? You hear me?”
Gyles nodded.
“What are we doing here?” he said, repeating the question.
Gyles walked to the fence and turned around. “Hell, I don’t know… is there any place else to go?” he whispered. “I don’t think there is. We’ve got to hold.”
Automatic weapons fire rattled through the valley below them, the rhythmic reports coming in on the wind. Police sirens sang a steady hymn, letting the soldiers know that the blue line was still holding. For how long?
That was another question.
“We should mount up and roll out of here while we can,” Weaver said. “We have enough wheels to roll everyone back to Stewart.”
Gyles nodded. “I don’t know.” He had thought of the same thing himself. “That’s a long trip with a lot of people we don’t know.”
“Well, if we stay, we need to know what’s going on down there,” Weaver said. “If the locals are fighting, we should lean into that. Might be something we can do to help, or at least keep the fight tied up and away from the armory.”
Gyles was no stranger to war. He knew Weaver was right; the best way to prevent attacks against a patrol base was to patrol. Right now, this was his base, and it was full of civilians who he’d been charged to keep alive. He needed to treat it that way and stop thinking of it as a hiding place. The only way he knew to do that properly was to close in and destroy the enemy. It didn’t matter what this enemy was. He would push his doctrine and training to the max to protect these people. If he failed, at least it would be standing his ground and not huddling in the corner of some basement.
“I know,” Gyles answered. He thought about the civilians inside and wondered about the families of his own men. “You still have that red-haired girl back in Clarksville?” he said, trying to change the subject.
Weaver smiled and looked away. “Nah, she forgot to tell me about her husband. Guess he got paroled while we were in the sandbox. He was pissed off to find my shit hanging in the bedroom closet.”
Gyles laughed and turned to slap Weaver on the back. “Sorry about that, bro. What did I tell you about hunting for wives in those trailer parks?”
“Whatever, man, that chick was hot. And she made a mean meatloaf too. Hey, did you manage to work things out with Tracy?”
Gyles sighed and shook his head. “Nope, she packed up and moved in with her folks. I found divorce papers on the kitchen table at the apartment, everything moved out. Once I thought we could patch things up, but not anymore. She won’t even return my calls.”
“She must have a man on the side then.”
“Wow, thanks for the confidence boost, brother,” Gyles said, shaking his head.
“Hey, who knows… after all this, maybe you’ll get that shot at a second chance.”
“I don’t know; she never was cut out for the army life. Her dad told me to move on when I called him at his office.” He looked down at his boots then out toward the distant town. “Maybe I should call her now. I bet they have no idea what’s going on.”
“Colonel says the phones are down,” Weaver said. “Cell circuits are hosed.” The squad leader frowned and dug through a pocket on his sleeve. He slapped a small tin of smokeless tobacco against his palm and offered some to his friend. “Forget about it. It was fun while it lasted, right? Guess guys like us are just meant to stay single.”
“You get a feel on the rest of the men?” Gyles asked.
“Like us, they just want to get home. Not knowing what’s going on is bothering the guys.”
Gyles nodded; that was enough for now, but soon it wouldn’t be.
“What about the town? You thinking recon?” Weaver asked, quickly getting back on subject.
Gyles turned and waved off the tobacco, a smile breaking his lips. “Recon? More like cannonball run.”
“Love that movie,” Weaver grunted. “What do you got in mind?”
Gyles rolled his neck, a loud pop reverberating from his shoulders. He shrugged, adjusting the heavy body armor. “We’re nearly out of food for the M4s, and even with what you recovered from the casualties, we’ll be down to stick fighting if they come at us in the numbers we saw this morning. The colonel said they don’t have much either; a few cans of 5.56 for the members of his guard force. Most of the ammo they drew went downrange with his battalion. The rest of their ordnance is stored hours from here, in a bunker. Might as well be on the moon with those things out there.”
“Not exactly giving a pep talk right now, are you, G-man?”
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. This kind of thing isn’t in the book.” He nodded. “You hear that gunfire down there? Those are carbines. The police are expending a lot of 5.56, probably military surpluses, but more than likely shit better than ours. I say we load up two trucks and visit the local cop shop.”
“Why not just dial 9-1-1 and ask them if they have any extra?”
“Yeah, smartass, because nobody has thought of doing that yet, did they? Like you said, phone lines are all down; Jessup tried earlier. They’re just drawing a busy signal on the landlines, and the radios are buzzed full of traffic. He says the department has their own radio net, but they haven’t had any luck connecting to it.”
Weaver grimaced and furrowed his brow. “So, say we get down there, then what? Not like they’re just going to give us their ammo cache.”
“Colonel says it’s a small department—less than five fulltime officers, and another half dozen part-time volunteers and part-time deputies. Maybe we can offer our help in exchange for a resupply.”
Weaver chuckled. “Or we roll up like we own the place, take over the mission and everything that goes along with it.”
“Yeah, cause a second battle we can’t win is just what we need right now,” Gyles said. “Just get a pair of trucks ready. We’ll take First Squad for a walk and see what’s going on out there.” The platoon sergeant squinted, not taking his eyes off the distant town. “Bring Howard too; we’ll need a doctor if the infected really are here.”
Weaver nodded, stuffing a large wad of tobacco into his cheek. “And where will you be?”
Gyles motioned toward the steel building with his head. “I need to check out the rest of this place and talk to the old man. Be ready to move when I get back.” He turned toward the building and the civilians he knew were inside, the ones he’d been avoiding since his arrival at the armory.
In front of the building, near the pedestrian door, the two guards he had seen earlier were standing watch. One with his rifle slung, the other with it leaning against the wall. Neither of the men bothered to acknowledge him as he approached. Gyles changed his course and stopped just inches from the senior of the two soldiers. A fat-faced corporal, he had his rifle carelessly slung over a shoulder with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Gyles knew from experience that complacency and lack of discipline could destroy morale faster than any enemy.
“So what exactly is it you’re supposed to be doing here, Corporal?” Gyles asked in a sharp tone.
The soldier slowly looked up at Gyles, still showing little recognition of his authority. “Colonel wants us to guard the door,” he said smugly.
“Is that a two-man job?” Gyles retorted.
“Colonel sai—”
“You don’t trust my soldiers to cover the door?” Gyles interrupted, not allowing the corporal to finish. “Why the hell are you smoking and joking while the rest of this camp busts its ass to reinforce it?” Gyles shouted. “Don’t you care what happens here?”
The soldiers suddenly realized they were in trouble and both snapped to attention, the cigarette falling from the man’s lip to the ground. “Sergeant, we were told to watch the door, just following—”
“Where are you from, Corporal?” Gyles asked, stepping closer, his face now only inches from the man.
“Vines, Sergeant,” the corporal said.
“You’re from here?” Gyles was tired; his body hurt and he was still holding back the resentment about being kept in the dark about the real situation he had blindly led his men into. He knew better than to take it out on these men, but he was running on the edge. He took a step back and looked at the man’s nametape on his chest. “Jones, is it?” he asked, not wanting an answer. “Jones, grab your shit; you’re going to be taking a trip with me into town. I need someone local to show me around.”
“But, Sarnt, Vines isn’t safe; there’s been shooting coming from there.”
Gyles grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him in. “Did
n’t you just say you were from Vines?”
“Ya, yes, Sar–Sergeant,” he said, stuttering.
“And you don’t give a shit about what’s going on down there?” Gyles asked him coldly.
The man’s jaw dropped but he didn’t answer; instead, he stared at Gyles with his mouth hanging open.
Gyles nodded. “Get your shit and find Sergeant Weaver. We leave in ten.” He pushed the corporal aside and pulled open the door.
Entering the building, he knew what he was walking into, but the sight of it still shocked him. The door led into a large open drill deck the size of a double basketball court. Every bit of flooring was filled with civilians and their bags, along with foldable army cots lined up in rows. Soldiers walked among the families, handing out bottles of water and brown, plastic MRE packages. At the end of the room, people waited in line for a single restroom; the building was obviously not equipped for the current number of occupants.
At the far end of the room was an open classroom area with tables and chairs situated around a pair of plasma televisions currently tuned into national network news. Amidst the crowd of people gathered there, Gyles recognized Jessup, with the pilots of the Chinook standing next to him. As Gyles made his way across the congested space, women and children looked up at him with weary faces. He tried to force a reassuring smile or a nod of his head as he passed them.
He could tell by their eyes and expressions that they were fully aware of the situation closing in all around them. On the TV, a reporter spat rapid-fire updates, subtitles painted along with her words while the scrolling bar at the bottom listed names of major cities now under martial law. The world was burning, and he was caught up on the frontlines of it all.
Jessup noticed him and pulled away from the crowd. Walking toward a narrow hallway with the pilots in tow, he signaled for Gyles to follow. They passed to the end of the hallway then stepped into a small conference room. The white walls of the room were covered with motivational posters and wall charts of the local geography. One long wall contained a large, plate-glass window covered with partially drawn blinds. Through the window, Gyles could see a large, cut lawn that overlooked the town. High in a corner of the room was another flat-panel television showing the same broadcaster’s face.
