by Rounds, Mark
“So who ….”
“I don’t know. I am not even sure I know how to ask the question. But look, I need to get back home.”
“It’s not that simple,” said Chris. “You just showed up in my car. The only story I can think of is that you are my cousin and ex-military and I called you in desperation because I needed your help here.”
“I am your uncle, not your cousin,” said Chad sheepishly. “We had to come up with an excuse for the car. I’ll also need to make a radio call, to tell folks I am delayed.”
“Won’t Mom be surprised,” said Chris with the first real smile since the power outage. “Make your call and then let’s go introduce you to my boss.”
May 22nd, Friday, 2:17 pm EDT.
Special Agent Macklin was standing on the apron at the College Park Airport with a suitcase and little else. The pilot of the private jet that had brought him had carefully made sure the airplane powered down, chocked, with the hanger locked, and then, when Macklin wasn’t looking, simply walked around the corner and took off in his Jeep Cherokee. All Macklin saw were the taillights disappearing the distance.
They hadn’t been the best of traveling partners, especially after the power went out. There was no air traffic control and no communications with the airport in Muncie, Indiana where they had to land to refuel. That episode had taken the better part of a day as they were reduced to draining a tanker truck via gravity feed into a single five gallon can that they had found and then had to hoist it up to the refueling point on the wing.
Macklin thought that the pilot was being most unreasonable. After all, he had paid him an exorbitant amount of money plus getting an almost impossible to get flight clearance. Expecting him to help with the menial labor of refueling was ungrateful to say the least. The last leg had been flown in almost complete silence and now the pilot was gone.
The airport was almost empty. The only activity he could see was a small group of infected people skulking around one of the maintenance buildings. They were pretty far gone; their clothes were in tatters and open sores were visible even at this distance. Macklin knew that they would have to feed soon and he was a prime target. He had his issue firearm, a Sig Saur P229 in .40 Smith and Wesson, but he had only two magazines, twenty-four rounds in all. Not a lot to hold off the infected when they became interested.
His condo was six miles away in Arlington and right now, it could be on the moon for all the good it would do him. He had six hours at most before it was dark and then God alone knew what would happen to him. Hiking through an urban area that at last report had close to one hundred percent penetration was not an option.
Just as his despair was reaching the bottom, he spotted a black, late model Chevy Suburban with government plates working its way through the abandoned cars in the parking lot. It pulled up and the passenger side window rolled down. With a start he realized that it was his ‘real’ boss.
The man in the driver seat was of an indeterminate age, he could be fifty, or he could be much older. He was quite slim but his arms showed a wiry musculature. His eyes had the epicanthic fold common in Asia, but his face defied ethnic identification otherwise. In the seat behind him were two men in full combat kit with opaque face shields and H&K MP-5’s in their laps.
“It took you long enough to find your way back,” said the driver without preamble.
“It was difficult to get fuel after the power …” began Macklin.
“When I want excuses out of you, I tell you,” said the driver cutting him off. “Now, before I let you get in and perhaps save your almost worthless existence, I have a question, did you fulfill the check list I gave you?”
“Yes sir, I managed to cover every item,” said Macklin wearily.
“In that case get in. We may still make some use out of you yet. What remains of the government still notices your existence for some reason and the infra-structure of this country in particular is far more resilient than we gave the system and its designers credit for.”
Chapter 13
May 22nd, Friday, 3:05 pm PDT.
Chad was stationed at the across the street from the south entrance of the high school. They had taken a couple of abandoned vehicles and parked them in a shallow ‘V’ in the middle of the baseball diamond. From that distance, they could cover all five of the doors on that side of the building.
When Chad had been introduced to Lieutenant Miller and had produced his brand new military ID that showed his brand new rank of captain, there was some talk of putting him in charge of the military side of the containment force, but his protestations of just being an intel wienie and one look at First Sergeant Ingram dispelled any thought of that. Sergeant Ingram had spent a full military career as a Special Forces NCO and trainer. When he had retired from the active military with twenty-five years active service, he had moved over to the National Guard as a full timer. It was clear to all that the good sergeant would be a better choice.
However, it didn’t get him out of being the team leader for this position as most of the experienced soldiers were on roadblock duty. Behind the barricade were two Kennewick squad cars set up for communications and to get away if the containment failed. The design of the high school had been a factor in its selection as a medical overflow site. It had few windows due to an energy efficient design strategy. It also reduced the number of possible exits to a manageable level.
His ‘command’ consisted of a National Guard fire team of four members, two Kennewick police whose squad cars provided the back up and two retired policemen. The National Guard troops were armed with an M-60 machinegun and an M-16 with an M203 grenade launcher. The other two soldiers had M-4 carbines. The police were armed with a mix of shotguns and pistols.
Ammunition was a concern. Chad had started with a box of twenty-five shotgun shells and two magazines for his .45. He had received only twenty more shotgun shells from the police. No one was in much better shape. Part of the ammunition shortage was because most of the people manning the perimeter did not really want to shoot anyone; hence there were a lot of warning shots before they actually fired to kill. Since they took this position, they had had three attempted break outs that had resulted in gunfire and at least a dozen fatalities from this position alone.
They had used the time in between rushes to chain the doors shut using chains and padlocks liberated from a local hardware store. The city had also dispatched a snow plow to help and using the big dump truck with the plow blade as a bulldozer, they had pushed abandoned cars into blocking positions on most of the doors.
Chad was watching the doors pretty closely. There had been no visible activity for the past hour. That had been good because they had used the time to harden the doors further; however, he didn’t like the quiet. He was ruminating on that when he heard one of his nineteen year old guardsman shout.
“Hey Captain! I think they are on the roof!”
Chad still started when he heard himself referred to that way but the rank bolstered the shaky morale of the six men and two women that helped him man this post. Chad looked up at the top of the school and saw half a dozen clearly infected people in hospital gowns or less on the roof. Attempting to portray calm he did not feel, Chad grabbed the microphone from the car he was using for communications.
“Serenity 6, this is Serenity 2,” said Chad into the microphone. The call sign was Chris’s idea of humor. It not only made a geek reference to the series Firefly that was good for his young troops, it also was the last thing this containment taskforce could hope for. “We have infected on the roof.”
“Roger, we have them in sight also,” said Sergeant Ingram. “My rules of engagement state that we are supposed to warn them before we fire. You have the best position south post. Please do so.”
“Roger,” said Chad, then he changed the setting on the radio the way the police officer showed him and switched it to a loud speaker.
“You, on the roof,” said Chad, his voice amplified by the PA system. “Go back inside the b
uilding. Do not attempt to leave the school. You are infected. For your own safety, please return to the school.”
It was a forlorn hope. He had gone through this twice before. Each time, they had responded by rushing the sound. This time was no different. They started moving toward the edge of the roof. The high school was built with several different levels on the roof line. Some parts of the school had two stories while other parts had only one. Several of the infected were climbing down the access latter to one of the lower levels.
“Carlson,” shouted Chad. “Put a round over their heads.”
“One wasted round coming up,” quipped the young infantryman but he did as he was told and fired a round from his M-4. He didn’t actually fire over their heads because it would have put people on the other side of the building in danger but he did hit the side of the building well away from the ladder the infected were using.
At the sound of the shot, several of the infected looked directly at the young soldier and began moving much more quickly down the ladder and toward the young man.
“Crap,” said Chad, though this had been the same pattern they had seen before. Once someone started to resist their actions, the infected singled them out and went after them until they were killed. “Put some tear gas on the roof.”
The grenadier with the M203 fired a round from his grenade launcher and dropped it right in front of the ladder. As they had seen in previous rushes, the gas did little or no good.
“Serenity 6,” said Chad with a rising note of panic in his voice, “tear gas has been deployed with no visible effect, request permission to open fire.”
“Serenity 2 is authorized to use deadly force,” said Sergeant Ingram knowing that if this went wrong and the normal, rational world was restored, there would be an investigation and an after action report. The recorded radio traffic would hopefully show any future investigator that they had not fired indiscriminately and had tried to warn the infected.
“Ok folks, conserve your ammo and make it count,” said Chad.
Those with rifles began to fire single, aimed shots trying to take out the closest infected. Those armed with shotguns and pistols held their fire. The M-60 began to fire in short bursts, perhaps two to four rounds each. They only had one can of ammo left and were trying to conserve it.
The infected were now dropping from the top level, not bothering to use the ladder. Where once there had been perhaps twenty individuals, now there were a hundred or more. Some finally reached the edge and began jumping to the ground. The infected ignored broken bones and compound fractures to continue forward.
Now those with shotguns, including Chad began firing. The number of infected didn’t seem to dwindle.
“Serenity 6 this is 2,” said Chad anxiously into the microphone. “We are experiencing a rush of a hundred or more. We need some support here.”
“Sorry 2, we have our own problems,” said Sergeant Ingram laconically. There was the sound of automatic weapons fire in the background. “Expend your ammo carefully, and if you can’t stop it, bug out to the rally point.”
There were more than forty people, young and old, male and female that had been shot or incapacitated by jumping from the roof, but they just kept coming. Those that made it to ground immediately rushed the barricade and it usually took several hits to drop someone.
Those armed with pistols only had the least amount of ammo and ran dry very quickly. Those two, a young police woman and an older man who had retired two months ago from the Pasco police force who had showed up civilian clothes looked very scared and were beginning to panic. Chad realized that if they ran, everyone would.
“You two,” said Chad pointing the two now defenseless members of his team. “Go back to the cars, start them and get ready to extract. Don’t roll until everyone is in the cars. Is that clear?”
They both nodded and headed for the cars. Chad kept directing the fire of his diminished unit, adding his own when it seemed necessary.
“Captain!” shouted the M60 gunner, a young corporal that looked like he had just graduated from high school, “the M60 is clocked out!”
“Load it in the squad car,” said Chad not bothering to look around. “We will need it later.”
“Captain, you need to see this!” said the M60 gunner as he stowed the machinegun and drew his M-9 Berretta.
Chad turned around and saw that people, clearly infected people were starting to run toward them from the other side of the ball field. These were not patients at the makeshift hospital in the high school dressed in hospital gowns or less, but rather infected in tattered civilian clothes that had been hiding among the general population. It seemed that they were involved in a coordinated attack.
“All Serenity units this is Serenity 2,” said Chad into his microphone. “Be advised we are being attacked from all sides by infected who are not from the high school.”
“Serenity 2 this is Serenity 6. Serenity 4 has been overrun others in jeopardy. Extract as best you can. Meet us at the rally point.”
“Do we have any HE rounds left?” said Chad to the M203 gunner.
“Two sir,” said the gunner.
“Grenades anyone?” said Chad who was answered by a chorus of shaking heads and no’s.
“Alright use the last two rounds of HE. Everyone else, switch to automatic fire and fire for suppression, then get in the cars.”
The first grenade exploded in front of a group of charging infected. The explosion knocked several down and the shrapnel cut up more but most of those knocked down got back up bloody and now enraged, charging even harder than before. The second grenade did little to slow them down. Meanwhile, automatic weapons fire did manage to knock down several more.
“All right,” shouted Chad, “get in the cars, now!”
There was a mad rush to get into the patrol cars. One of the National Guard troops stumbled tried to get up and stumbled again. The delay allowed one of the infected, a man who must have been quite fit before he caught the plague, to cover the distance between them and tackle the struggling soldier.
Chad strode forward and without thinking, butt stroked the infected man giving the Guardsman time to scamper to safety. The blow would have knocked most men unconscious, this guy stepped back a couple of paces and grinned a bloody gapped tooth grin at Chad. That was enough for him. Chad reversed the weapon and fired point blank into the man’s face ruining it in the process. The man rocked back and tried to come at him again. Chad was flabbergasted, he should be dead. Chad pumped the shotgun and pulled the trigger. The only sound he heard was the clack of the firing pin striking an empty chamber.
The grievously injured man lunged at Chad who sidestepped him easily. It was now clear the shotgun blast had blinded him. Chad slung the shotgun across his shoulders and drew his .45. He fired at the back of his attacker’s head as he passed, killing him instantly.
Any relief he felt was short lived as the next thing he heard was the two squad cars racing off. He turned and ran after them but they were already going too fast for him to catch. A couple of the infected bounced off the hood of the lead car as the they tried to stop it. Chad could see the face of the young man he saved in the backseat of the trailing car shouting at the driver to stop but it appeared to be of no avail. Both cars crossed the field and disappeared down South Dayton Street.
Chad stopped for a second and patted himself down looking for any spare ammo. He found that he was completely out of shotgun ammo and had only the two magazines of .45 left, one of which was in the pistol. Expending one round had left him with just 13 rounds. He was low on options and had no way to get home. Chad started to run away from the school as the infected had pried open one of the doors and were swarming in some numbers. He took only a few steps as there were perhaps twenty infected converging on him from the south. He went to one knee and began firing at the attackers from the south, hoping to clear a path to escape. He expended the rest of his magazine dropping an infected man charging with a rake.
; Chad seated the next magazine and prepared to fire when he heard the roar of a big diesel engine. He turned around to see the city snow plow coming onto the field. The big Ford F-800 diesel was going perhaps thirty-five miles an hour and plowed right through a clump of infected. The blade was about a foot off the ground. Some of the infected lost their feet and lower legs with the impact. Others just bounced off the blade with bodies flying everywhere. It roared up and screeched to a stop right in front of Chad. The passenger window rolled down and from up in the cab Chris’s smiling face.
“Need a lift?”
“But how …?”
“Your team noticed that they had bugged out without you and radioed it in,” said Chris as Chad clambered up into the passenger seat. “I improvised and came and got you.”
“Thanks,” said Chad with a sigh of relief as they pulled out.
“No worries,” said Chris. “I had to come get you. Imagine what your wife would have done to me if I had showed up without you.”
“Let’s not,” said Chad smiling for the first time all day.
May 22nd, Friday, 4:17 pm PDT.
Amber Hoskins was sitting quietly on the lawn furniture that Mary had set up in the garage with her knees pulled up to her chest. She had washed up and had bandaged her feet and the worst of the lesions. She was wearing a hoodie and a pair of Mary’s sweatpants and was wrapped in a blanket. Even though the day was quite warm, she felt cold. She had almost no body fat remaining but part of her chill stemmed from the sense of foreboding she was feeling. With each passing hour she heard the voices in her head less and less, but her own narrative was taking over, filling her thoughts with all the dark images she had seen and imagined.
Her dark ramblings were interrupted by Fiona, the Strickland’s fourteen year old daughter. She had opened the door in the garage and walked to within ten feet of Amber.
“Hi,” said Fiona quietly.
“Hi yourself,” said Amber. “You probably shouldn’t get any closer to me until we know if I am cured or not.”
