Zombie Airman

by Guenther, David

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any other tops, would you airman?” The airman turned around, his eyes seemed to open a little wider.

  “I’m sorry, Ma'am, we don’t have any clothing. That’s my spare top; I thought you’d make better use of it. Could you please remove your glasses, Ma'am? I’ll finish cleaning the blood off your face. I’m glad to see you were not injured…” the airman jumped back and looked like he was going to faint from hyperventilating when he saw her dilated eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Gloria almost screamed at his reaction to her eyes.

  “Ma'am, you have zombie eyes. Oh God, all that blood that was on you, were you eating people?” The airman now looked like he was going to cry.

  “Pull yourself together, airman. Your acting foolishly, now are we done here?”

  “Uh huh, err, yes, Ma'am. Sorry for my reaction there, last night I was working on zombies and it was scary as hell.

  “So zombies have eyes like mine? Do you have a mirror? I want to see my eyes.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small metal mirror and set it on the gurney next to her, then backed up. She looked at herself and did her best to not show her shock at her eyes now looking all black. “Are you a racist, airman? You’ve never seen a full-blooded African’s eyes that have not been diluted by the white man?” The airman was now more scared of having a social actions complaint than he was about zombies.

  “I’m sorry, Ma'am, no excuse, please forgive my lack of socially correct etiquette in this matter. Your exam is done. Again, I’m so very sorry for insulting you. Socially correct etiquette? I’m surprised you didn’t wet yourself when I used the race card.

  “I’m not going to submit a complaint or ask to speak to your supervisor, you should reflect on this moment, though.” Gloria grabbed her bra and wrapped her uniform top around it, then jumped off the gurney wishing she’d left it on, even if it was wet.

  Gloria was trying to understand everything that was going on and, for once, was relieved that her parents were deceased; the thought of them having to go through this was too much. Relaxing, she tried a few breathing exercises while looking out towards the White Tank Mountains. A half dozen bright beams of light came out of the sky, it was obvious that they hit the ground far away, one had apparently hit just south and west of the mountains. The lights above went out at that moment. Guess that was Palo Verde; wonder if there’s going to be fall out? Who did that and why? Those who saw the beams of light were very rattled, especially with the loss of power following it.

  Lt Col Gerbis looked around the people in the fire station. Those that remained were military dependents mostly. Those that reported in earlier he’d ordered to augment the security forces. The day started with 312 people total on base, including dependents, out of approximately 6400 assigned total force and dependents. Gerbis had been the 62nd Fighter Squadron Commander the day before, now he was the combined base and Wing Commander of those remaining. It was assumed those not reporting in were either zombies or zombie snacks. I wonder how many just went AWOL to be with their families?

  “Spike 01, Luke Command Post.”

  “Luke Command Post, Spike 01.”

  “Sir, we have intercepted information about the zombies. Yokota AB reports that the zombies in Japan went into hiding during the day. When night came, they attacked everything the same as the first night. They also reported the zombies are faster and stronger than the night before.”

  “Spike 01 copy.” Where the hell do we go that’s safe? We can move into the squadron building and put trucks in front of each entrance. Tomorrow we’ll look at a permanent shelter solution and how to destroy the infected. “Yeah, that’ll work.” Gerbis said aloud to himself without realizing it.

  “Attention on the net, this is Spike 01. I want everyone not on a gate to report to the fire station.” An hour later he gave his abbreviated idea to the senior ranking NCO, “I want the 62nd Fighter Squadron Operations building secured. Just use plywood over the glass doors, then park a truck in front of each door so they can’t be opened. Access to the building will be through the snack bar that opens out onto a patio. I want to hear that it’s done no later than 1400 hrs to give us a window. That is all.” That was easy, that’s why it’s called leadership.”

  Converse County Airport, Wyoming. April 2, 2029

  MG Peters stood inside the hangar that was now a functioning command center. Two dozen satellite dishes surrounded the hangar. The reports he was receiving only confirmed that they had made the right decision to evacuate north.

  Major Arnot walked up to Peters and cleared his throat. “What have you got for me, Arny?” Arnot stiffened at the nickname but said nothing.

  “Sir, I received an email from A1C Caleb White, he survived after all. It sounds like the base had quite a few people that resided off base that reported in today. It also sounds like they don’t know what they’re doing, according to our A1C. He requested I send an email authorizing him to be armed. He killed a zombie back in the duty section this morning. He’s trying to take care of business until he hears back from us.”

  “Arny, you’ve made one of the highlights of my day.” Peters reached into his flightsuit pocket and pulled out his satphone, opened the directory and then called the Peterson Command Post. The phone rang for a minute before it was answered, Peters wasted no time

  “This is MG Peterson, at this time, who is acting base commander? What is the current manning? How many sorties can the base launch?”

  “How do I know you are who you say you are?” A suspicious voice replied.

  “The easiest way is to confirm that this is a secure satphone as you will see on your end by three green lights. You can also see the caller ID. Now, son, I’m in a hurry, so answer my questions now and life might even get better for you.”

  I’m sorry, Sir, I ordinarily don’t work commode post, sorry, command post. I work in the Maintenance Operations Center. Someone thought it was the same job and I was ordered over here because of the manning shortage. To answer your questions, Lt Col Zeifer from 21st Supply Squadron has assumed command of the base. 362 personnel have reported to the base. I can transfer you to MOC for the answer to your last question, sir.” Peters didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “Go ahead and transfer me, let them know who I am to save time.” Peters waited only a minute before the phone was answered.

  “This is MG Peterson, what’s the status for launching aircraft? How many can we launch?”

  “Sir, we can have three planes mission ready inside of three hours if there was no damage done to them by the zombies. We’d just need to fuel them up, according to our boards. We have no idea how many aircrews are available to take the sorties though, sir. All personnel on base have been ordered outside their buildings, unless they are in a secured facility.”

  “Get those planes prepped as quickly as you can. Now patch me back to the CP.”

  “Command Post this is...”

  “This is MG Peters again, connect me with Lt Col Zeifer.”

  “Yes sir, connecting now.” Peters fought the urge to throw the phone across the room when the line went dead.

  “Arny, get with our maintainers and aircrews. I want them on the way back to Peterson as of five minutes ago. They are to return with as many live bodies and supplies as possible. Hopefully, with enough time to make another return trip again before dark. Empty the base of all weapons, ammo, and food.” Peters picked up his phone and redialed the command post.

  “Command po..”

  Peters interrupted the speaker. “This is MG Peters again, do not try to transfer me, pass this on to Lt Col Zeifer. One, I want to know how many aircrews he has available. Two, I want the entire base, with the exception of a small crew that can load and service planes, ready to be evacuated to my location as soon as possible. I want every gun, bullet and MRE possible loaded aboard those aircraft. I want Lt Col Zeifer to call me back as soon as he can with his plan to achieve all this before it gets dark ther
e. I’m also sending a C-130J and a C-17C back to support those orders for evacuation. Peters out.”

  “Well, Arny, it looks like things are finally beginning to look better for us.” Peters gave thought to what he was doing with Peterson AFB, then thought about the other units in his command, as well as there still being no activity from the National Command Authority (NCA). I can be court-martialed, or fired, I can be accused of thinking I’m Alexander Haig. Most likely there’s a good chance I can save lives and resources. I have to do this. Peters drafted a message to all recipients on the NCA list.

  This is Major General William Peters, Acting Commander of Air Force Space Command. Because of losses sustained by the current pandemic, I have moved my headquarters to Converse County Airport in Wyoming to ensure the survival of my command. I recommend all commanders that are near large population centers move their operations to safer locations. The attacks by infected on the evening of April first will be repeated once nightfall comes on April second. I cannot stress enough for commanders to take proactive measures to save their personnel and resources.

  Additionally, there has been total silence from the National Command Authority or any others in a leadership position over the Department of Defense. If I don’t hear from either military or civilian leadership in the next 24 hours, I will take the extraordinary step of assuming emergency command of all branches of our military and set up a temporary staff of senior leaders from all branches of the service.

  “Here Arny, see that this goes out DOD wide, with widest dissemination possible. It will be interesting if someone survived higher in rank to take over this mess. I’m a fool for volunteering, but it will make whoever is senior step up to take charge, which might not be a good thing.”

  “I’ll see that it gets out right away, sir.”

  Wetzel was impressed with what he saw when he returned to the airport. Satellite dishes were scattered all around one of the hangars. The terminal seemed to have lots of activity around it also. He wasn’t going to waste his time trying to find Conrad though. “CATM one, Defender one.” He radioed.

  “Welcome back, Defender one. Meet me in the second hangar,” Conrad replied curtly. The hangar had a series of offices that were being re-tasked. The armory was in a corner office. Conrad and three defenders each had a M4 torn down to some degree before each of them, busy inspecting and cleaning the weapons. “Andersen, grab yourself a weapon and then initial on the list of serial numbers that you performed the inspection and cleaning on it. Wetzel, how did it go with the old man?”

  “Turns out the old man owned half of Wyoming. Has more small arms than the Air Force, and more food than us. After he gave us the grand tour of his mansion, we took care of his wife. He told us to help ourselves to anything. He then locked himself in with his dead wife and popped himself. We had a couple sodas and sandwiches before we each took a shower and brought his truck and his huge key ring back with us. His mansion had a wind turbine, a huge one and a small fleet of industrial vehicles, oh, and his own oil field.”

  “I’m glad to see you came back, consider that truck, your patrol truck as your reward.” The building began to shake as the C-130J taxied by, as it quieted down the C-17C taxied by. Neither man had any interest in watching them take off. Security is going to be low key since we don’t have many people. We’ll have one man at the gate and one man on top of the terminal doing a 360 of the area. I’ll have the one ton here ready to deploy a reaction force as needed. Gate and terminal will be four-hour shifts. I’ll see about training augmentees to assist us. I’ll see Major Arnot about approval to requisition the food you said was at the mansion. I want to see that place.”

  Peters stood outside the terminal, watching the planes as they prepared to take off. He was pleasantly surprised how quickly maintenance had done their postflight inspections and then preflight inspections on the planes. He didn’t care for the wind that seemed like it was blowing through his leather flight jacket and flightsuit. He decided to head back in when his satphone began buzzing.

  “MG Peters, this is Lt Col Zeifer, acting wing commander of Peterson. Your message was passed on to me and I wanted to confirm your intent.”

  “My intent is to strip the base there of every living person, active duty, guard, reserve, dependents, and civilian willing to get on the plane. I want every weapon and bullet possible. I want as many MREs and food as possible. I want to see the planes depart there as soon as possible so they can return for another load or two before it gets dark. Do you have the aircrews to do that?”

  “Sir, I believe we can hold the base. I…”

  “That is not what I asked. How many aircrew members do you have? Do not tell me anything else or I will fire you this second.”

  “Sir, we only have four pilots and five loadmasters. We can launch two planes at a time.”

  “No, Zeifer, you can launch four planes if you have four planes. The loadmasters will sit in the right seat. If there’s any flying crew chiefs, they will take the right seat. I have a C-130J and a C-17C headed your way that will need to be loaded. Every single plane that arrives here will have the maximum amount of passengers or cargo. If there is space available after the primary items, I want cold weather gear and field gear. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Sir, you want maximum number of sorties with maximum amount of cargo and passengers on each sortie.”

  “Very good, Lt Col Zeifer. I will expect you to be on the last plane out to make sure there are no problems. I will review everything with you once you arrive here. Good luck.” Why do I feel a major cluster fuck coming on? I should have gone down and taken care of things personally. I could have grabbed my suitcase, too.

  Luke AFB, Arizona, April 2 2029

  All activity on the base was redirected to clearing out the 62nd Fighter Squadron building. Lt Col Gerbis entered the building after receiving the all clear. He peeked into the first door on the right, his old office. The office had been totally trashed; the newly installed executive office suite no longer seemed as prestigious with bullet holes and blood smears. The carpet in the corner had been well used as a zombie bathroom. His professional I love me wall, knickknacks, and papers had been piled into a corner and used as a nest or bed. A dead zombie lay across his ornate cherry wood desk, blood leaking over his silver framed picture of his wife. He pulled his M17 in a rage and fired three rounds into the body. The clearance teams ran from all parts of the building in response to the shots fired. He looked up from where he stood over the body, “He was still moving. Let’s get back to work, people. We need the bodies out and let’s pull as much of the bloody carpet as we can. The night will be better if we don’t stink of zombies.”

  Gerbis was on top of each detail, making sure the wood was properly installed over the glass doors. The windows were too narrow and the glass too thick to worry about. He almost helped when he saw they were having trouble moving the pool table out of the snack bar, but was able to resist. He watched as a truck was parked in front of each door.

  Gerbis walked up to the truck that had just blocked in the door. Less than an inch separated it. He looked at the driver and the sergeant who had been directing the task. “Outstanding job, men, I couldn’t have done better myself. Carry on, and be sure to leave the keys in the ignition in case we need to move them in a hurry.” The two men looked at each other and waited for the Lt Col to turn the corner before releasing their pent-up laughter at the pompous ass.

  Dependents had made themselves at home in the main briefing room as they had been directed to. The kids were out of control, climbing onto the stage, then jumping off, running out the front doorway of the room, down the hall and back in through the rear doorway, their parents no longer caring, as long as they didn’t shout. Lt Gloria Alban had to dodge the kids more than once as she helped clean out the secretary’s office across from the briefing room of bloody seats and then tearing up the carpet. Gloria balanced the last piece of carpet on her shoulder, trying not to get any blood on her newly
repaired and cleaned uniform blouse. Carrying it into the hallway, her leg crumpled under her and the weight of the carpet pulled her to the ground.

  “Hey, get off me, you big cow!” Gloria laughed at the predicament of the small boy who had run into her, now trapped under her butt.

  “Sugar, if I get off you, will you settle down and stay with your mom?” Gloria asked as she contorted herself into a position to stand without crushing the eight-year-old boy.

  “My mom got real sick last night. Dad’s deployed to the desert, I don’t have anyone.” He tried not to whimper as he spoke.

  “Well, fine, then. I claim you for me.” She reached down for the small blonde boy’s hand, the contrast of her ebony skin against his pale skin bring back unwanted memories. “Now grab the back of this rug and help me carry it out of here.”