by JT Sawyer
They practiced in the evenings, starting out with half-speed moves and progressing to fullblown strikes on padded clothing followed by endless simulation drills against Willis.
Eliza proved to be an eager student and her years of prior dance training made her moves seem more graceful than most of the men he was used to working with. Willis knew that he was only teaching her the physical moves involved in being combat efficient. The will and desire to actually kill another human being was something that either she had or she didn’t. That trait, he worried, would only reveal itself in the chaos of fighting and his admonitions and mindset training could only take her so far. Given how stark the world had become, he knew she wouldn’t have long before she would be graded on the battlefield. He had to push her harder and increase her training tempo over this next week for their push north. They had decided to stay put in the well-stocked farmhouse until the weather cleared from its blustery snowstorms and they could procure a suitable vehicle.
“I don’t expect you to be a master fighter but I do expect that you be a master of 2-3 moves. These can save your ass one day. The best fighters I ever trained with were guys who were awesome at delivering a couple of key strikes rather than the dude who sucked at a thousand moves. So, I want you to practice the straight knife thrust and the side slash until your arms hurt. Then do the same with a stick—all of the skills that I teach you with the blade will carry across other weapon platforms. This whole system of fighting is largely based around the Filipino Martial Arts and those guys have combat down to a fine science.”
Willis had tied several swaths of old rags around the wooden upright that ran from the floor to the ceiling. He demonstrated the moves first and then had Eliza mimic him. Then he set her loose on the rag training dummy, circling her and yelling out instructions while she struck and stabbed the post.
“Remember, small circular moves when slashing and sharp jabs when thrusting. The longer you have your weapon away from you, the more your body is opened up to a possible attack. Get in and get out fast while sidestepping and setting up for another round of strikes.”
After she had done a hundred thrusts, she paused to rest, lowering the blade by her side and grinning. “Whew, that is some workout.”
Willis stepped forward and slapped her on the arm with the butt of his blade. “You think those things out there are gonna let you catch your breath when you’re battling on the streets?”
“Shit, you didn’t have to smack me like that.”
He stepped into her space and looked her in the eye. “This isn’t a Zumba session with your friends. You’ve been slipping these past few days. Your goal is to destroy your opponent at any cost. There is no place for mercy on the streets. Do you understand?”
Eliza backed up, palming the blade in her hand while resting her other hand on her hip. “Look, I’m trying my best. I know the alternative to not having fighting skills in this world is to meet a horrible death. I’m not slacking off—I’m just not sure I can do what I did to that zombie to another person.” She blew a strand of hair off her nose with an impatient breath. “I took jazz and ballet lessons my entire childhood—I’m just not sure I can be a soldier when the time comes.” She turned and jabbed the blade into the post and then walked away.
Willis pondered her words for a moment and then resheathed his blade. “Eliza, between us and Fort Lewis are hundreds of miles of open road filled with the undead and desperate survivors who will slit your throat just for your jacket.”
She moved away and stood looking out the window at the immense fields of brown grass blowing in the wind.
Willis moved up next to her. “Do you remember the plaque that was in the Oval Office behind your father’s desk? The one that he placed there himself?”
“Yes, I remember. It was by Eisenhower.”
“What did it say?”
She looked away and tried to move around Willis but he sidestepped and blocked her way. “Tell me what it said. I know you memorized it when you were younger. Your father was always so proud of that.”
Eliza folded her arms and tilted her head slightly as tears welled up in her eyes. “‘We succeed only as we identify in life, or in war, or in anything else, a single overriding objective, and make all other considerations bend to that one objective.’”
“Yes, that’s it. Now Eisenhower wasn’t facing what we’re up against but he had his dark days of chaos and horror as others had before him. His words are timeless and apply just as much now as when he held the reins.”
She balled her hands and placed them on the wall, tapping the concrete as if hoping it would respond. “I just miss him. I never thought things would end this way. We should be back at Ft. Lewis now.”
“This isn’t an ending, not for you. You’re a fighter, Eliza,” he said, moving next to her.
“I am tired of thinking about fighting and shooting and running away.” She turned and relaxed her fists and let her arm fall down beside his. Eliza slowly stroked his hand and then interlaced her fingers with his. She felt him return her grip and then she slid her other hand onto his waist. Running her fingers along the top of his service belt, she looked up at him. “Can’t we put aside all of this for now? I don’t want to fight against you right now.” She pushed her lips up to his. He moved closer and pulled her into his embrace as the glowing image of the sun in the window behind him faded below the trees.
Chapter 18
After everyone reconvened on the sailboat, Alejandro piloted the vessel on a route that ran parallel to the seemingly endless strip of hotels dotting the coast of Cancun.
“This used to be a city of half a million when tourism was in full swing,” he said. “There are going to be a lot of those things roaming around but they mostly stay by the buildings and hotels so you shouldn’t run into too many along the beach.”
“I concur,” said Shane, pointing to the shoreline. “From my brief scan of the area, it looks like the helo is located on a police helipad between two buildings over there.”
“That’s the Coral Beach Resort and the Endless Fiesta Hotel,” said Alejandro. “They mostly kept the helicopter there for med-evacs from all the drunken college kids who got head injuries diving into the outdoor pool at night.”
“Looks like the majority of creatures are concentrated on the main street away from the beach. The best bet is to swim in to the shoreline when it gets dark,” said Shane. “Getting to the helipad shouldn’t be more than a twenty-minute sprint up the beach past the resorts and over to the helipad but once that helo gets started, it’s going to draw a lot of attention. We’ll need a distraction.”
“I can sail over to one of the docks and torch one of the boats moored there,” Alejandro said. “Such an explosion will provide the diversion you need.”
“Matias and I will get to the chopper and, if all goes well, meet you back at the island,” Shane said, raising his hand as he saw Carlie step forward to include herself. “I know you’re the boss but I know my physical capabilities swimming in rough surf and Matias is the only guy who can fly that rig. If anything happens to us, you’re the one who has the contacts and passcodes for re-establishing contact with our government and ensuring Pavel makes it back.”
Carlie folded her arms and frowned. She knew Shane was right but staying behind didn’t sit well with her. “Alright, but Alejandro and I will provide cover support from the boat with our rifles. We’re not going to be very effective at this range and in these choppy waves for long but it will give you a head start.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Shane, who was looking at Carlie and then beyond her at the low-hanging sun. “Let’s move the boat in towards the shoreline in two hours at dusk and then we’ll liberate our new bird from its zombie showroom.”
Chapter 19
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its rosy fingers upon the water, Shane and Matias slid over the edge of the sailboat into the ocean. Each man was clad only in a pair of shorts and had a rifle slung tight
ly on his back along with individual fannypacks which contained their tactical knives, pistols and a handful of magazines.
The mile swim to shore was uneventful as the sun set and a partial moon illuminated the way. Shane noticed an old but familiar feeling of subtle separation anxiety from his support crew on the boat as the gulf between him and the boat increased. He’d felt it numerous times on combat insertions similar to this where the umbilical cord back to your vessel was severed as you entered hostile territory and were solely dependent on your skills and the man beside you for survival. Only this time, there’d be no search-and-rescue mounted if they didn’t return or were overwhelmed by superior numbers.
As they approached an empty dock that jutted two feet into the bay, they swam underneath the barnacle-encrusted support beams until their feet touched the sandy surface below. Matias came up alongside Shane and they both studied the beach ahead from their concealed position. In the distance a few hundred zombies were staggering along the beach between the resorts and the shoreline. These creatures were spread out over a two-mile distance with some around the thatched cabanas while others moved around inside the hotel courtyards that faced the ocean.
Shane looked at his old friend, whose face was partially visible in the moonlight. “Did you ever think we’d go from busting dope smugglers in the Sonoran Desert to doing an over-the-beach insertion into Cancun to snag a helo from zombie central?”
“Every day I shake my head and pray to God that he will release me from this same nightmare—the one where I lost my wife and kids and am still stuck in this hellish purgatory.”
Shane held on to the wooden post as a small wave rolled in past them, then he put his hand on Matias’ shoulder. “You know I’m here with you, brother, and always have your back, right?”
“Yeah, I’d never forget that, amigo. It’s just…you know…I spent my entire childhood living in poverty in Panama, eating fish we caught with t-shirts strung up on forked sticks ’cause we couldn’t afford a net or trapping rodents in the alley behind our shack. I didn’t even have a pair of shoes until I was fifteen. I swore when I grew up that I’d build a meaningful life for myself and marry a good woman. I did all that but yet here I am—trapped in my childhood again, eking out an existence.”
“Damn, dude, I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy living minute-to-minute these many weeks that I didn’t know this was eating you up so much.”
Matias shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just whining like a schoolboy. I’m still good to go and will be watching your six like I know you’ve always watched mine.”
Another wave spilt over their backs and Shane looked out to his left at a nearby dock where Alejandro was moored. “If there’s time after we secure that helo, I’m gonna grab us a six-pack of Tecate beer and we’ll get shit-faced back at the island. That’s something that’ll be good for both our souls.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? No offense to Alejandro but his piss-warm wine is making my stomach turn. Piss-warm beer sounds much better.”
Both men chuckled while they watched an orange ball of flame roil up into the sky from the distant dock as a small jet boat exploded. Within seconds, the zombies on the beach began making their way over to the conflagration, which created a wide swath of open shoreline before Shane and Matias.
“Let the evening festivities begin,” said Shane.
Both men pushed off the sandy floor of the bay and made their way along the side of the deck, finally making it to the end and sprinting to an overturned coffee kiosk. Unslinging their rifles and doing a partial chamber check to release the water buildup, they crept along the beach to the edge of a surfboard rental shop and scanned the route to the helicopter three hundred yards ahead.
Chapter 20
With hundreds of creature pouring down the beach towards the flaming boat, Shane and Matias slipped between concessionaire stands until they were at the blue cement steps that led from the beach up to the hotel. Shane went first, moving in a half-squat and ducking in and out of groves of low palm trees. As he crested the last step he saw two immense, kidney-shaped swimming pools flanked by numerous shade ramadas and tables. The grounds were strewn with broken glass, palm fronds, and the remains of gnawed human bones. Most of the lower-level windows of the hotels were completely shattered and the insides littered with windswept debris and scuttling rodents. To the right of the nearest pool was a miniature golf course and a fenced-in tennis court. Both men moved along the edge of the artificial turf. Shane stopped by the golf club rack and grabbed a solid steel putter, turning back to grin at Matias. Shuffling to his right, Shane bumped into a columnar wire basket filled with golf balls that was concealed in the shadows. The container tipped over, spilling dozens of balls which rolled on the angled sidewalk into the pool, plunking into the murky water like a hailstorm had just struck the region.
Shane turned and smirked at Matias, who nodded his chin forward as six zombies near the tennis courts started beelining towards them. Matias ran across the turf and grabbed the chainlink gate, slamming it closed and sealing the zombies inside the tennis court.
“Damn, man, now I’ll never know how my backswing sizes up,” whispered Shane.
“It would’ve been nice to have these for whacking all the poisonous snakes we’ve had to contend with these past few months,” Matias said, tapping his golf club on Shane’s shoulder and pointing the handle to the helicopter, whose rotors could be seen glinting in the moonlight, fifty yards away. Both men backtracked towards the pool and continued slinking between overturned lounge chairs and bamboo-slat tables until they were at the rear service doors of the hotel.
The landing pad was situated in a U-shaped cement wall that was over twenty feet high with the cockpit facing out towards the ocean. The location would prevent any creatures from coming in from the rear but also squeezed in their escape route at the front if there was a mass influx from the pool area.
Matias rubbed the back of his hand against his chin while staring at the forty-five-foot-long helicopter, its blue-and-red exterior glinting in the moonlight. “That’s an AW149 Maritime Rescue Helo and it looks to be in decent shape—on the outside, anyway.” Matias continued visually inspecting the aircraft. The five rotors above the twin engines looked operational despite being coated with a thick crust of seagull droppings. The filthy windshield on the modular cockpit was unmarred and revealed a cabin interior that could carry at least twelve people. Tucked underneath the main frame between the landing gear was a rescue hoist and cargo hooks.
“I’ll have to check the fuel level first and then the instruments to make the sure the battery is functional, then I can fire up the engine.” He smirked and looked over at Shane. “An entire pre-flight inspection done in mere minutes—not sure I like that.” He scanned the area for any movement. “After that, I’ll need five minutes minimum to get the RPMs revved up enough so we can lift off—that’s going to draw a helluva lot of attention to us during that time.”
Shane peered back over his shoulder at the pool area where a few zombies were aimlessly stumbling over trampled lounge chairs. “Alright, why don’t you head over and see if we’re getting outta here on that bird or swimming back to the yacht crew.”
“Copy that,” Matias said, handing Shane all of his rifle magazines except one, which he tucked into his belt.
“I’ll stay here as it gives me the best overwatch of the area. If things fall apart, we’ll make a dash back to the beach the way we came or head over towards that distant pier,” Shane said, motioning to the south with his machete.
Matias patted him on the back and then slunk off into the shadows along the rear of the cabana until he was alongside the helicopter. He used the key that Alejandro had provided and slowly unlocked the left front door. He peered inside briefly and then walked around the helicopter and removed the tethers from the bolts in the ground that connected the anchoring ropes to the rotors.
Shane lowered the golf club to the ground and
resheathed his machete then lifted his M4 and began making a slow arc to either side of the landing pad in search of movement. He could no longer see the dock with the burning boat but a faint orange glow in the distant sky betrayed its position and the thunderous groans of hundreds of zombies drowned out the crashing waves.
Shane felt a trickle of water roll off his forehead, unsure if it was from his still-wet hair or a bead of cold sweat. He was nervous but not about the potential for combat. Rather of what would become of them if this retrieval mission failed. If I had a beer for every time I’ve been wet, miserable, and hungry in the last few months I could open a bar. I sure hope that bird is operational so we can finally leave this green hell. I’d rather take my chances back in a small town in the States than be stranded again on some tiny island counting the notches in my belt as my waistline shrinks. His mind drifted back to Carlie, wondering how she and the others were doing. He’d hardly had any time to even give more than a passing thought about Carlie and how she figured into his future or he into hers but he knew that if time ever permitted, he’d revisit the idea.
The humidity was so thick it stood like a membrane between his skin and his surroundings. He noticed that the slight ocean breeze had ceased and a foul stench of rotting leaves and human remains from the stagnant pools was piercing his nostrils. As he shook his head, sending droplets from his wet hair onto the chalk-blue patio, he heard the sound of the helicopter engines groan. The rotors sputtered and the rear exhaust belched out a plume of black smoke, the loud blast echoing off the cement walls. He could see Matias leaning slightly in his seat while he tried to engage the engines via the controls.
