by Brian Parker
A few days ago, he thought he would stay to help bury D.J. and be on his way, but when he saw that the local townspeople could benefit from his experience as a combat leader he decided to stay and help them temporarily. They were good people but the men, and a few women, who made up the subdivision’s protection force didn’t know anything about tactics. Several had been in the military many years before, but none of them had been in combat units and every one of them had been in the service between the war years.
Sam, the man who went inside and rescued Grayson at the pizzeria had been a radioman. His wife, Gretchen, was a military police officer when they met and they both got out after their first enlistment. Justin had been a truck driver and was now an animal control officer. Even Curtis, the semi-official leader of the group, had been a fixed-wing aircraft refueler in the Navy before he became a financial planner. They’d gotten some rudimentary instruction in Basic Training, seen plenty of action movies and knew just enough to get themselves killed, but they didn’t have any idea about how to really conduct an operation.
Grayson saw immediately that the neighborhood needed help to shore up their defenses against outside threats. The entire subdivision of over 500 hundred houses was completely surrounded by an eight-foot stone wall with only three entrances to worry about. He’d had vans and SUVs driven across two of the gaps in the fence so they could be moved for access and egress, and he semi-permanently sealed the third, unneeded exit with several rows of disabled vehicles and barbed wire. At regular intervals, they parked vehicles along the wall to act as platforms so the defenders could see over the top of their fortifications and he had volunteers patrolling the fence with small walkie-talkies scrounged from kids’ playsets.
It wasn’t much, but he felt that he was helping these people in the only way he could. They’d saved his life, opened their homes for him and given him food and shelter, it was the least that he could do to pass on his knowledge to them. Originally, his plan had been to head back east to determine if Emory was still alive, but he knew she wasn’t. A few independent radio stations had begun to broadcast again and it was clear that Washington D.C. had been at the epicenter of the nuclear attack and no one survived. Emory lived and worked downtown, with no car to get away, even if there’d been any warning. There was simply no way she’d survived.
So, he stayed to help. He didn’t harbor any illusions about staying after the country was put back together, but for the immediate future, he had a decent place to stay with good people who needed his assistance and he felt like he was making a difference.
After the defensive perimeter was set, the group went after the immediate threats of the roving gangs and then the potential problem spot of the drug house. The three operations had all gone better than he could have hoped and so far, only one member of the team had been seriously wounded. He only hoped the National Guard or the police would show up soon because it was only a matter of time before somebody got killed.
In theory, he was against vigilantism, but it certainly had practical applications in the world they were facing. He’d gladly helped with the marauding gangs, but he was initially against the raid on the dealer’s house. The townspeople eventually won him over by telling him the place was a known drug hotspot for years and the local law enforcement from before the blast hadn’t been able to do anything about it. They were afraid that when the drug stash ran out, those people would seek out new ways to get high, which included the needed prescription medications of the “rich” people in the Three Pillars Estates.
When they’d arrived at the run-down house, Grayson had noticed a large white catering van crashed into a tree out front. That by itself wasn’t abnormal with all the anarchy around the area, but the van was actually from a bakery right around the corner from where he and Emory shared an apartment in Alexandria. He’d peeked inside the van, to make sure it was clear, but no one was hiding inside. The inside was an absolute disgusting mess with slime and gore over everything.
The group had just started to move to the door of the house when a drugged-out Middle Eastern whacko wearing a white bakery uniform with the name “Navi” sewn on the pocket had charged out of the house and tackled Jessica Spellman, a member their group. It had taken several men to finally pull him off of her and he started trying to bite them. He was so high on whatever drugs he was taking that when he received two gun shots to his body, he didn’t even flinch. Curtis finally put a bullet into the druggie’s head at point blank range and he fell over instantly. He’d bitten a huge chunk out of Jessica’s leg, which almost immediately started to turn gangrenous and despite their best efforts, Grayson thought they were going to have to amputate the limb, but no one could agree on how to do it since none of them were medically trained.
While they searched the house, they found the rest of dealers. They’d been savagely murdered and it appeared that they were partially eaten. It reminded Grayson of the news story from a few years ago about the guy in Florida who was so high on bath salts that he attacked a guy and bit his face off…only this guy had succeeded in continuing the meal. They had returned to the sub-division, proud of their accomplishments but worried for Jessica.
The watch had been cautious on these operations, but he knew from his experiences in Afghanistan and Iraq that the more successful the group was, the more likely it was that they’d take unnecessary risks and it would end badly. His best squad when he was a company commander had gotten cocky about their abilities to fight against the Taliban in the Pesh Valley. They’d gone on one too many headlong attacks into the face of their overmatched enemy, but the tribesmen had been watching and learning. The squad leader identified and attacked an enemy force that turned out to be a diversion and they were caught in a double envelopment. The entire squad was killed and their bodies were desecrated before Grayson was able to reach them with a relief force.
So he knew the dangers of overconfidence and that an easy target almost never was. He told the story of his ambushed squad to the entire neighborhood watch after the raid. It was sobering and the victory celebration turned into twenty people forlornly drinking their remaining warm beer supply and reflecting on the actions of the day.
There were rumors that the National Guard was slowly making its way to the outlying communities from their home bases, but it would still be days before they got all the way out here to the suburbs. No one really knew what happened to the Indianapolis Police Department, but Grayson figured it was probably the same story as everywhere else, either they were quickly overran and dispatched or they returned to their homes to defend their families and hadn’t come back to the job yet. Maybe a little of both. He’d asked around, but no one in the neighborhood had personally even known any police officers before the blast so they weren’t able to determine what had happened to them.
***
In two hours they were going to attempt to link up with the neighborhood watch group from the Pecan Valley Village about four miles from the Three Pillars. Curtis told Grayson that they’d been in constant communication with them since the blast, but last night was the last time anyone had heard from them. Fearing the worst, Curtis asked for volunteers to go over and see if they needed any help.
Grayson checked his rifle and counted the bullets out on the bed. Sixteen rounds were all that he had, better make them count. All told, even after the raids, the group only had seven firearms; the cumulative effect of several state and national gun control laws that had passed the last few years had been very effective in this part of country. At least they’d been effective in removing the weapons from the good guys’ hands, the bad guys always get the guns, he thought. The rest of the group had a mixture of crossbows, slingshots and blunt weapons like baseball bats and golf clubs. One man did have a 12 Century broadsword replica, but thankfully, they hadn’t had to test its effectiveness so far.
Grayson chambered a round and jammed 3 more into of the magazine of the bolt action 30.06 rifle he carried and put the other twelve rounds in his fan
ny pack. He laughed to himself quietly about the little blue pack that he wore everywhere nowadays. It was extremely convenient for holding ammunition and small snacks, but every time he buckled it on, he felt like a 75-year old woman. He missed the easy to use web gear he’d had in the military, but the fanny pack did just fine in its place.
Next he snapped the sheath for his 6-inch hunting knife to his belt. He’d tried to find a little bit longer of a knife, but the pickings were pretty slim. He prayed he wouldn’t ever need to use it and that the National Guard would show up to help everyone out before they totally ran out of food and would be forced to scavage. He looked around the little room to see if he was forgetting anything before he left to check on Jessica one last time before they left for Pecan Valley. Nope. No magical supply fairy brought anything else overnight, he thought.
He picked up his backpack that contained a change of clothes, a rain jacket, some heavy duty gloves and a few cans of food and left the little guest room. He walked down the hallway into the living room. In the kitchen, Curtis and his wife Julie were quietly arguing. He waved and said, “I’m going to check in on Jessica before we take off boss.”
“That’s fine, Grayson. Better take a handkerchief for your nose though. When I was over there last night, that place stank somethin’ awful. I hope the folks over at Pecan Valley are alright and that doctor of theirs will come back with us to help that girl out. Hell, even if he won’t come back with us, maybe he has a medical journal he can give us or somethin’.”
“We’ll see, but I doubt he’s got books titled “How to Amputate an Appendage” lying around his office. Too bad the power’s not working, the internet would surely have a page or two about amputation techniques.”
“Hell,” Curtis smirked, “you go typin’ that into a search engine, you’re more likely to pull up some weird Japanese porn than to find anythin’ useful…Oww!” His sentence was cut short by a jab to the ribs from the wooden spatula in Julie’s hand. “Well, it’s true,” he continued. “Alright now, we’re still plannin’ on leavin’ at noon, so don’t get yourself sidetracked buddy.”
“I shouldn’t be too long. I’ll just make sure Jamie has enough water and clean bandages for Jessica,” he said as he gently closed their front door.
Jamie, Jessica’s younger sister, had moved in with her last year after she lost her job in Dayton. She was a small woman who was shy around strangers, but everyone told Grayson that once he got to know her, she’d talk his ear off if they could find common ground. He thought she was very pretty, even though she tried to hide her face behind her bangs, but he disliked that she barely spoke to him and avoided his eyes when he looked at her, even though he could tell that she watched him and it seemed like she wanted to talk to him, but was too timid. He’d grown to like Jessica and during down time between missions, they’d talked about her quirky sister. She’d been one of the popular girls in school, a cheerleader and a volleyball player, but years of really bad choices in relationships had made her retreat into herself. The final straw was when she lost her job and was forced to stay with her older sister.
But, when Jessica got injured, Jamie stepped up and took on the task of providing what medical care she could for her sister. She claimed that Jessica had taken care of her during the worst times in her life, so she would do the same and see her through this. She was totally out of her element, hell they all were, but Grayson respected her for it.
He felt responsible for what happened to Jessica, so he made sure that he checked in on her as often as he could. He’d actually ended up spending quite a bit of time with Jamie as he came and went. There was really nothing more they could do for her without proper medical attention, and their combined frustration had grown into a friendship. They’d taken a liking to each other and seemed to have an easy rapport, even if most of their talks were about her sister.
He walked the two blocks over to the Spellman house at a brisk pace. The house was surrounded by a modest white picket fence like every other home in the neighborhood. Very little distinguished it from any other house on the block. Geez, I’m so glad I live in the city with all the old architecture and…he stopped his brief reverie, all that was gone now.
The little gate squealed as he pulled it open and stepped onto the brick pathway to the home. Jamie surprised him by opening the front door before he could knock. “I heard the gate,” she said with an apologetic smile.
“It’s ok. How’s she doing?”
“She moans a lot and her leg smells horrible. She’s having a lot of trouble breathing too. I don’t want to be a bother to you guys, but do you think the doctor will be able to help her?”
“I think he may be able to, Jamie,” he said as he reached out and gave her a tentative pat on her upper arm. “I came over to see how everything was going and let you know that we’re leaving at noon to see if that doctor can come back with us to help your sister.”
Grayson was instantly reminded of a hundred homes he’d been in during his lifetime when they went inside the little Rambler-style house. The formal living room that no one ever used was to the right. On the left was the all-important home office that was partially filled with mismatched business furniture intermixed with semi-formal home furnishings and the couch from Jaime’s old apartment. Straight down the hallway was the family room with a kitchen and dining room to the left and the three bedrooms to the right.
Grayson set his rifle and backpack down in the corner by the front door and gestured for Jamie to lead the way. As they turned the corner towards the master bedroom, the smell hit him like a brick. It was the awful stink of rotting flesh and the sickly-sweet smell of infection. “Wow, Curtis was right about the smell. It’s gotten so much worse than it was yesterday,” he said through a pinched nose.
“It’s worse in the bedroom, even with the windows open. I’m sorry Grayson. I really am trying to help her, but I just don’t know what else to do,” she said as fresh tears began to gather in the corner of her eyes.
“It’s ok. None of us know what we’re doing. We’re all just making this up as we go along. Ok?”
She nodded and wiped her nose on a tissue she’d pulled from her pocket. He thought of reaching out to her again, but decided against it. There was a fine line between comforting someone and being downright creepy, especially in the crazy world they were living in. He thought of Emory and wondered for the thousandth time if she was alive.
Jamie blew her nose and gave him a little smile. He smiled back at her and turned just in time to get bowled over by someone rushing from the bedroom.
***
09 May, 1028 hrs local
Military Decontamination and Infection Control Site #3
Near Culpepper, Virginia
Everyone in the camp knows about the zombies now, Emory thought as she pushed the cart full of soiled laundry in front of her. There was no hiding it as the stream of casualties from skirmishes with them was increasing or the occasional sounds of gunfire coming from the hospital as men who were being treated turned. Emory continued to volunteer and she was surprised that after a little more than a week, she was already mostly immune to the sight of death and the psychological trauma of knowing these injuries were caused by creatures conjured from childhood nightmares.
As a volunteer in the hospital, she saw and heard more of the plan of defense against the zombie threat than the rest of the refugees did. What was left of the city was circled by concentric rings of troops who were trying to kill all of the infected before they could escape into the countryside and spread the disease across the entire continent. From what she could gather, the U.S. was pulling back all of its troops from the Middle East and throwing them directly into the fight.
The units closest to the city were the ones taking the casualties so they rotated groups up to the front lines every twelve hours or so. There had been a couple of platoons literally wiped out as their injured and dead reanimated and became zombies attacking from within the lines or even from behind the
m at the unit-level aid stations. It was a real mess and the radiation levels that close to the blast site didn’t help the situation.
All of the medical staff also had to undergo routine decontamination and they continued the fully nude inspections for wounds, especially bite marks, on her body. It was still humiliating, but she finally understood what they had been checking for during those previous sessions. The disease was so easily transferred by saliva, even with the most minor scratch. So far, none of the doctors, nurses or volunteers had been injured by the troops who reanimated in the medical tents, but it had been close a couple of times. There were more soldiers with weapons in the hospital to take care of any zombies now than there were medical personnel. It was crazy how quickly the situation had changed.
Emory sensed movements right in front of her and looked up to see her replacement Josh, who smiled when she saw him. She was a little taken aback and glanced at her watch. “Hey Josh, I didn’t even realize my twelve hours was up. I wasn’t expecting you yet,” she said.
“Yeah, time kinda flies by doesn’t it? I’ll finish taking those dirty uniforms over to the burn pile and you can go get some rest.” He looked left and right, then leaned in and asked, “Any word on how the fight is going over in the city?”
“We didn’t have any high-ranking guys in today, just a whole lot of junior guys, so no big updates. But we did have three reanimations in my room alone and I heard a lot of gunfire from around the building, so I think there were probably a lot more. I went by the in-patient ward earlier and it looks like most of the guys who made it through surgery the past couple of days without turning into one of those things are still in there and are gonna pull through.”
Josh shook his head, “Thank God for small miracles, huh?”
“Well, I hope he’ll just start answering some prayers soon, we could really use the help,” she said. “I’m gonna run over to the morale tent and see if any messages came for me, then try to get some rest before I’m back here tonight. See ya later.”
