Zombie Airman

by Guenther, David

  “Okay, that works for me, now let’s beat feet.” Caleb opened the top half of the hatch and gave a quick look to the left and right, then dropped the bottom half of the hatch. He squeezed through, then stood there until Rick was out. Rick went to the opposite side of the vehicle and slipped the padlock over the hatch locking it, then moved to the vehicle’s rear and secured that hatch.

  “Change of plan, let’s do a quick sweep of the entire building before we lock up our transportation. I know the armory will be secure; I just don’t want any surprises after we lock ourselves in from anywhere else in the building. I’ll take point, you cover my back. You open any doors, and then I’ll go through them. If I holler ‘run,’ it’s every man for himself getting back to the armored car.”

  “Let’s just get this done. I’m tired and hungry, plus those beers are hollering for me to drink them!” Rick answered.

  Caleb jumped out onto the concrete; the wind was picking up and the air smelled and felt great. Rick was standing in the hatch, waiting for him to get out of his way so he could jump down as well; he moved to the side of the building’s door and readied himself. He nodded to Rick to pull open the door.

  As he moved cautiously through the opened door, Caleb felt as if he’d run into a wall as he entered. The stench from blood and eviscerated intestines competed with the smell of human waste. This ain’t getting any fresher. He stepped on a bloated body and heard the gas forced out from the body because of his weight. He heard retching from behind him and did his best not to look or listen as he was getting nauseous himself. Every step seemed to cause a squeak, riiip, or puff of expelled gases as each body was stepped on. Rick stoically tried to keep up, but felt more and more grossed out by the minute from the smells, then he stubbed his boot tip on a pile of intestines and fell forward, hands out in front of him to stop the fall. He only partially broke his fall and found himself only inches face to face with a cadaver’s head that expelled noxious fumes from her mouth into his face, he turned his head and retched again. He felt even sicker when he pushed himself upright with his hands on her chest to steady himself, the soft flesh under the Operational Camouflage Pattern uniform, making him imagine her huge breasts.

  “This ain’t working. Let’s just grab the cart and get into the armory. If anything or anybody is still here, they can have the rest of the place. The pair turned and walked as fast as they could back to the exit door.

  Gulping air, Caleb thought of the cigars in the cart, they’d probably cover some of the smell. Rick’s ashen face color told him just to move it before he lost it all together. Rick climbed through the hatch, and proceeded to manhandle the cart to the hatch and lower it to Caleb, then jumped down and slammed the top hatch shut before lifting the bottom half and padlocking them together.

  The grocery cart was unwieldy going through the door, then Caleb set it down and produced a set of keys, going through them he finally found the right one and locked the door. “Where did you get a set of keys to the security forces building?” Rick asked, astounded.

  “Let’s just leave it, saying it’s been a long night.” The pair carried the cart sideways, feeling like they were walking on a pile of slick uneven algae- covered rocks and gooey mud. When they got to the men’s room with the fallen, bullet ridden door, Caleb chimed in. “You really don’t want to use the toilets in there! Last guy to use them damn near died.” He continued carrying the cart until they turned the corner and were able to set the cart down. “And we are almost home.” He reached into his thigh pocket, pulled out a CAC and slid it through a card reader before typing in 7321on the number pad. There was a loud click as the bolt retracted. Rick noticed the face on the card was not Caleb.

  “Whose CAC was that?” Rick asked as Caleb fought with the door until it was open far enough for him to slip in. He moved a body that’d been propped up against the door.

  “Meet Lieutenant Nakamura, it’s his card. I didn’t think he’d be using it again. Rick rolled the cart into the armory, then Caleb dragged the lieutenant out into the hallway. “Take the cart to the back of the room. There’s an office back there with furniture.” Caleb pulled down the shutters to cover the open weapons issue window to the hallway. The farther back he walked, the cleaner the air smelled, though it did still smell of oils and gun cleaning solvents.

  Rick was already sucking down a can of beer as the microwave cooked a Salisbury steak dinner. His weapons were lying on one of the desks. Caleb stood before another desk and dumped his body armor and pistol belt on it. He stretched and felt ten pounds lighter. He reached into the cart, grabbed a beer and guzzled it without any other thoughts in the world. After three back to back he decided it would be nice to eat now, especially with the Salisbury steak smelling so good. Rick had a plastic knife and fork and was busily covering his meal in salt. Between mouthfuls of food he said, “Drawer under the microwave has plastic ware and anything else you need.” Caleb pulled out his chicken dinner from the microwave, and burned the roof of his mouth. He ignored it, ravenously eating the entire meal while ignoring the burn on the roof of his mouth. Sated for now, he pulled out the Jack Daniels Special Collector’s Edition boxed set that included decorative glasses. Tearing open the box, he pulled out the fancy rocks glasses, then tore open the bag of ice and dropped a few in both glasses before filling the glasses a quarter full of bourbon, then topping them off with Coke. He watched the soda fizz and almost pop, then handed one glass to Rick as he tipped back his own glass, nearly draining it in two long swallows.

  “You are sick, man, how can you drink that stuff? My dad drank bourbon and said anyone that mixed Coke with it ought to be shot.” Rick opined after only a small sip. Caleb pulled out a bottle of 151 proof rum and his companion’s attitude changed as he poured his drink out while managing to keep the ice, then filling the glass half up with rum and then Coke. He sat back on the couch and closed his eyes while sipping the concoction. “That’s what you use Coke for. Ahhh, life is good.”

  Caleb decided against saying anything as he filled his glass fifty-fifty and began to feel comfortable. He woke an hour later to the noise Rick was making in the armory. Caleb walked out after freshening up his drink. His friend was sitting on the floor with a pile of different types of pistols and rifles, none GI.

  “Looks like you found the section where they store weapons for folks who can’t have guns in their dorm rooms. Find anything you like?” Caleb leaned up against the wall as he watched him dry firing the guns, acting like a spoiled kid on Christmas.

  “An original Winchester 1873 lever action rifle, it’s a beauty. You can tell by the finish and the serial number it’s not a reproduction or made years later.”

  “Yeah, and it’s in the original 44-40 caliber. Take a look at the tag tied to the trigger housing.”

  “WOW! It has a three digit serial number, and….”

  “And, the tag has my name on it so stop fucking playing with it, it’s over 250 years old. That’s my retirement fund!” If I was actually going to live long enough to retire. “What else did you find here?”

  “These over here, I have to show you,” Rick stumbled to his feet, then almost fell as he went into a locker and returned with a strange yellow and black pistol in each hand, held at his side like a gunfighter, “Draw, Pilgrim!” Everything went into slow motion as he raised both arms, aiming both weapons at Caleb.

  “Noooo!” Caleb tried to put his hands in front of him for protection, instead he felt his entire left shoulder go numb, followed by his entire nether region. You did not just shoot my prick, you dick were his last thoughts as everything went black.

  “Oh, stop acting like a baby. They actually taze kids all the time and nothing happens.” Rick got so worried and upset he accidentally gripped both weapons, sending more electrical charges through the wires into Caleb’s chest and crotch, making the body twitch. Rick dropped both weapons and knelt down over him, grabbing the back of his wrist, not feeling a pulse or any sign of breathing. His training kicked in
and he began to do chest compressions, then waited to hear any sign of breathing. He resigned himself to the fact that he had killed his new friend when he tazed him in the heart not once but twice. He went back to a locker and brought out a nice new 12-gauge pump shotgun in his right hand, in his left he carried a box with pictures of the American flag on it. He dropped himself to the ground crying, snot running from both nostrils; he tore the box open, dropping the contents on the floor around him. He picked up the red plastic and brass shell and slipped it into the shotgun then pumped the round in the chamber. Afraid he’d lose his courage; Rick stuck the barrel into his mouth, a moment of calmness coming over him. As he reviewed in his mind everything that he’d gone through in the last six hours, all the tension seemed to slip away completely. He felt at peace, and then pulled the trigger.

  Luke AFB, Arizona, April 2, 2029

  Pain, excruciating pain, was all First Lieutenant Gloria “Grits” Alban could feel as she forced herself to open her eyes. Bright whiteness forced her to close them as she swore, “What the hell is happening to me!” She felt around her, feeling the warmth of the sun on the concrete around her. She rolled over onto her stomach, every muscle protesting. Reaching to scratch her nose, she felt something that was only partly dried and sticky covering her nose, lips and cheeks. She lay still and could hear the wind blowing and birds in the distance singing. Opening her eyes enough to squint into her own shadow, she was able to keep her eyes open for just a little bit longer before the pain became too much. She could feel the breeze a little better as she became more aware. Her legs were feeling the warmth of the sun at the same time a cool breeze was blowing across them and her buttocks. What the hell? She reached behind her and felt her bare legs and exposed butt. In a panic, she opened her eyes and looked down her front, she was wearing her light blue uniform blouse with short sleeves. The top three buttons were gone and she could see her exposed bra. She began to panic even further when she realized her entire shirt and bra were a reddish black that she immediately recognized as dried blood. Gloria forced herself onto her knees and fought the nausea and dizziness as she felt everything spinning around her. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her right foot and pushed herself the rest of the way to a standing position. Ten feet in front of her, she could see a pair of security forces squad cars with an armored car behind them blocking the road. She looked past them and could see the White Tank Mountains. To her left she saw the road that split the base. I’m on the bridge that goes over Litchfield Road. Behind her, on the bridge, there were about a dozen bullet-riddled bodies; each body was in a pool of blood. The commissary and the Base Exchange showed no signs of activity. The base clinic had smoke coming out a broken window. Where are the fire trucks? There was no one in sight! The smell of burnt rubber and bad meat assailed her as she took an unsteady step towards the squad cars ahead of her. Among all her aches and pains, one felt more intense than the others. Looking down, she saw thin wires leading to her left breast. Without thinking, she yanked them free and yelped in surprise. Looking carefully at the wires, she recognized that the probes she’d pulled out of her chest came from a taser. She followed the wires towards the closest squad car and found the taser in yet another puddle of drying blood. There were dozens of small and some large, puddles of blood. Inside the squad car to her right, she found the body of a security forces SrA. (Senior Airman) He was laying across the front seat of his squad car. His throat had been so thoroughly torn it looked like just his bone was holding it on. He still held an M17 automatic in his right hand, the action locked open. On the squad car floor in front of his body, a full magazine stood upright, inches from his left hand.

  What the hell is going on? Looking around the bridge, she could see more puddles and smears of blood. She felt something under her foot and lifted it to see an unfired 5.56 cartridge and hundreds of fired 5.56 and 9mm brass laying all over the bridge. She felt something against her back. Reaching behind she was relieved to feel she still had her skirt and knocked it down to cover her butt and legs. She absentmindedly gave a little sigh of relief.

  “Attention, attention. This is the 56th Fighter Wing Command Post. The base is still under Condition Black. All personnel and dependents are to report immediately to the fire department station. All security force personnel and security force augmentees report to the Security Forces Squadron. Personnel are reminded to stay out of all buildings that have not been cleared, this includes the clinic. Medical attention will be administered at the fire department station. The attackers have taken cover in the buildings. Repeat, stay away from all buildings and report to the fire department station. Further details will be broadcast as they become available. 56th Fighter Wing Command Post out.” Gloria shook her head in pain as the PA blared from a dozen locations.

  The M17 drew her attention. The base is under attack, I should arm myself, no, what if this is a crime scene and I’m disturbing evidence? Sue me bitch! Reaching for the automatic, she discovered the pistol still firmly clutched in the airman’s cold dead hand. Holding the airman’s wrist in her left hand, she then began to pry each finger open, shuddering each time a finger bone popped. Transferring the automatic to her right hand, she picked up the magazine from the floor with her left hand, while pressing the magazine release with her right thumb. The magazine fell to the ground as she slid the new magazine into the pistol. Her thumb pressed down the slide release, without giving it any thought, chambering a round. Slipping the M17 into the waistband of her skirt, she stood up and took a moment to catch her breath. The smell of the dead body hit her hard and she turned away from the car. Her body betrayed her as she bent forward, expelling the contents of her stomach. She avoided looking at her mess, instead forcing herself to stand upright. She shuddered, trying not to look back at the squad cars or the armored car, deciding to head to the fire department station as the announcement had ordered. The quietness of the base made her shudder one more time.

  Converse County Airport, Wyoming. April 2, 2029

  Ed Grygorcewicz sat in his truck at the Converse County Airport parking lot. There was a great view in all directions, now that the sun had risen. He’d spent the night doubting he’d ever see another sunrise. Now, for the last hour and a half he’d been listening to the constant drone from an old gray C-130J that’d been circling the airport. He recognized it as Air Force, amazement that the government was already sending help restored his poor opinion of the government. He imagined the plane landing, then the tail opening up, Army trucks loaded with soldiers would drive off the ramps, and then proceed to kill the monsters that’d chased him a good part of the night. The old six-shooter in his lap only had three bullets left in it. The shotgun behind his seat in its sleeve was empty. He had tried to work up the courage to go back to his house for more ammo, but the creature that once was his wife would still be there waiting inside. He would ask the Army for help when they finally landed.

  “Airport looks okay to me. Runway 29 should be an easy approach. Runway is clear and no zombies in sight in any direction. When we land we can taxi to the far side of the runway from the terminal and hangars until they can be cleared,” Major Jen Shepard informed the copilot. She didn’t want to burn any more fuel, now that the sun was up and risks could be determined. The short flight from Peterson AFB had been eerily quiet. The only radio traffic they picked up was other aircraft that had been warned away from major airports and were now trying to find somewhere to let down. A check of every station could not find a single ground station still transmitting

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, as we start our descent; please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seatbelt is securely fastened and any carry-on luggage is safely stored. Our loadmaster will now perform a walkthrough. Please feel free to let him know if you have any trash or other problems he may address before landing. I would like to take this moment to thank you for flying with the 731st Airlift Squadron. We realize you have choices
and choose to fly with us. I have been fortunate to be your captain today; my name is Major Jen Shepard.” Passengers laughed at the announcement while the loadmasters helped strap everyone in, most of the passengers had to sit on the floor since there were more passengers than seats.

  The copilot looked over the approach information on the tablet and wished he knew their gross weight with so many passengers and cargo. The runway below was not his first choice, he had figured 3600 feet was needed to land so either of the runways would be adequate. He was more than happy they’d use the 6534 foot runway even though the other one still had a little extra legroom at 4760 feet, if needed. Now, if the place was just clear of zombies, that would be ideal.

  The approach to runway was less than ideal, a slight crosswind could be felt blowing sporadically from the south east with minor wind gusts. Major Shepard made the decision it was time to get on the ground. The runway was less than a minute away from a greaser landing when crosswinds forced the plane to the side of the centerline. She used just enough rudder to center the plane back into the middle of the runway when the plane touched down heavily, then bounced as she fought a slew of strong wind gusts. The seat felt like it was part of her once the plane was down and she was taxiing towards the parking ramp.

  The plane felt like it had been taxiing forever to SrA Wetzel. He would lead the eight-man team from the plane to secure the surrounding area, then set up a perimeter. Although he’d received extensive small unit training, the thought of going up against the zombies left a bad taste in his mouth. He wished he’d been allowed to stay behind as part of the rear guard with MSgt Conrad. He almost fell when the plane jerked to a stop. The loadmaster came up to him and said, “Three minutes, then engine shutdown. I’ll open the hatch for you.”