“Ann, if you want, you could fill up one of these trucks with your treasures and be on your own. There are at least two dozen guns in the store you could have. Not implying anything, just shooting it out there.”
“I couldn’t let you go on by yourself, I’d worry too much. I have to see that you make it to some place safe, Caleb.” Caleb smiled at her utter lack of empathy.
“Well, get your chest in the truck and we can be on our way. With the exception of Cheyenne, we should have a simple drive from here, less than two hundred miles.”
“Welcome to the ZA radio station of Cheyenne, Wyoming, no longer restricted by the FCC because there is no USA. If you are listening to this, you have survived the Zombie Apocalypse, so far. You have tuned in to our news hour. I’m Delores Del Monte, your hostess with the mostest. It appears Wyoming is the only state with the lights on and a few of our neighbors on our power grid. We’ve had reports that all nuclear power plants have been taken out by aliens.
Major cities are major problems as they are now under zombie control. Wyoming is under martial law by acting Chairman of the Joints Chief of Staff, Air Force Major General William Peters, who is now also the military governor of Wyoming. Peters has ordered the immediate evacuation from all towns and cities during the hours of darkness. His administration will assist towns and cities in removing the Zs, but admits it will take time because of a shortage of manpower. Volunteers and all members of the military, regardless if you’re retired, active duty, or whatever; he needs you to go to Douglas County Airport, the temporary seat of power for the state.
If you just happened to wake up, and don’t know what’s been going on, well, you’re screwed. At last guess, ninety percent of the world’s population has turned into zombies. In order to kill them, you have to destroy their brain or their heart. Reports say you can burn them to death or drown them, too. Additional reports to be announced as we get them. Now for your listening pleasure, the Zombies bring you, Hold Your Head Up.”
Caleb looked at Ann in amusement and laughed, trying not to cry, as they neared the Wyoming border. “Wow, we’re going to have electricity and radio. I bet you they’ll even have sliced bread soon, too.”
“Don’t get too excited, Caleb, there’s going to be a hell of a lot of things to do and I think things will get worse before they get better. How many workers do they need to run the power plants? Can they repair problems? What happens when the peanut butter runs out? Humans are going to be a minority for a while to come.”
“Do you think that’s good news or bad?” Caleb pointed to a roadblock with a Stryker one hundred feet ahead of them.
“If it’s bad news, then its really bad news. There’s a few dug in positions, too. If we try to turn around, they might be trigger happy. If they’re on the up and up, you’d better get your CAC ready to show them.” Caleb slowed but didn’t stop as he fished out his CAC and positioned his M4 for easier reach.
A sole patrolman walked out to the center of the road and held up his hand for Caleb to stop. Caleb rolled down his window as he neared him. “I’m sorry Officer, was I speeding?”
The patrolman climbed up on the truck’s side step, looked at Caleb and laughed heartily. “That’s the best one I heard all day, son. What brings you to our great state of Wyoming today, business or pleasure? He looked over at Ann and smiled until he saw the pair of M4s in easy reach of both truck occupants.
“Sir, I’m actually trying to get back to my unit. I work for General Peters, I just left Peterson AFB yesterday.” He held out his CAC to the patrolman who seemed even friendlier now.
“Son, I need you to shut off your engine. I have to get one of those guys to tell you what to do.” He pointed to the Stryker, as if it was hard to miss, then nodded his head. A pair of soldiers came out from behind the Stryker, obviously waiting for a signal. He carried the CAC over to them, and then went over to a group of patrolmen.
“A1C Caleb White. Can you tell me your last four please?” The Army Sergeant asked.
“7899, Sergeant,” Caleb replied, just knowing the NCO was expecting him to call him ‘Sir’. The sergeant handed him back his CAC and smiled.
“Ma'am, do you have an ID also?” He let his eyes travel to her chest and didn’t notice her eyes harden.
She handed the card to Caleb to pass on and noticed him go a little white in the face. The sergeant stood a little straighter when Caleb handed him the CAC. “Ma'am, can you please tell me your last four, and your date of birth?”
“1155, 10 January 2004, Sergeant.” Ann replied, sounding slightly annoyed.
“Thank you, Ma'am. If you stay on I25 past Cheyenne, you’ll find the lanes have been cleared. The Douglass Airport is 135 miles from Cheyenne. As you get closer to it, there’ll be signs. Soldier, you can proceed on from here.” Caleb didn’t look over at Ann; instead he turned the radio back on.
“Tell her no no no no no-no-no-no. No no no no no-no-no-no” blared out as they both cracked up, laughing at the Zombies’ song.
Converse County Airport, Wyoming. April 4, 2029
There was movement on the other side of the room, with a small flashlight throwing off shadows. What the hell was that guard doing last night? Peterson quietly got out of bed and pulled his pistol out from under his pillow and the small metal penlight from the floor by his boots. Where the hell are my boots? Stealthily, he walked around the office partition next to his bed, pistol ready. A lone figure was sitting next to a table that hadn’t been there when he had gone to bed. Two Styrofoam containers sat on the table, the smell of pancakes and bacon were calling to him, as was the pot of coffee on the table. The man, hunched down over something with his back to Peters, didn’t make any fast or funny moves.
“I’m sorry if I woke you, sir. I knew you had a big day ahead of you. I grabbed a little of everything from the kitchen and managed to find an unused coffee pot. I noticed yesterday you wear black flight boots with your flightsuit, so I touched them up a little for you.” The man pushed himself away from the table and directed his own light at the boots, which now gleamed from the beam of light. “I’m SSG Werner. Your driver, bodyguard, and chief dog robber. Unfortunately, I don’t know what the hell a canapé is.”
The watch showed 0600, and then began to beep. “Guess it’s time to get up. Why don’t you pour us each a cup of coffee, and turn the lights on.” Peters turned back to his bed, noticing a chair there now with his flightsuit and clothes laid out for him.
“You must have been busy last night. You’re pretty damn stealthy to do everything you did last night and not wake me. I’ll give you that. However, can you make a decent cup of coffee?”
“Sir, nobody has ever complained to my face about my coffee. I learned stealth one night when I had to put my pants on in a pitch-black closet with a pocketful of change, and then get through a bedroom, down the stairs and then start a truck with a messed up muffler. Soon afterwards, I enlisted and left home for the first time.
“I can see how that may have been beneficial. What was your MOS when you came in?”
“I came in 11B. My home town was small and I was running out of places to hide. I had damn good ASVAB scores, but there was no wait time at all to come in infantry. Ironic thing was the day after I enlisted; the gentleman looking for me found another man in his wife’s closet with a pocket full of change and blew him away with a 12 gauge. He’s in prison for life and his wife sold everything and moved on. If I had gone for another MOS, I could have said to hell with it and stayed a civilian. Funny thing is, I wouldn’t change a thing, except the zombie apocalypse.
“That’s a good story, how much of it’s true?” Peters laughed. He’d heard almost the same story over a dozen times from three different services.
“Sir, you wound me. Most of its true, except the murder and exceptional ASVAB scores. I did have a pocket full of change.” Peters laughed along with the SSG as he finished tying his boot. The food wasn’t hot, but it was warm and filling.
“Thank you fo
r your help. You have a call sign or name you prefer to be called?”
“Sir, my first name is Jody; friends just call me Werner.” Peters saw the pained look on the SSG’s face and said nothing about his first name.
“Time to go to war for the day, Werner. Maybe instead of staying in the command post, we’ll go downtown and visit the troops as they clear the town out. I don’t mind you being my shadow, let’s just try to play it down. Peters checked his M9 before slipping it into the leather jacket’s inside pocket.
The wind almost took off the general’s arm as it yanked the terminal’s door sharply as he opened it. The sun was already above the horizon and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. There was a long line for those trying to get breakfast before going on the morning mission. From the distance, he could see a few of them pointing in his direction. He gave an exaggerated wave, then held up his hand, giving them the V for victory. A mix of waves and Vs were returned with a chant of ‘Hooah!’
The command post appeared to be orchestrated pandemonium. The largest group was at a single display of a quarry. “Good morning, General Peters. Here you go, black and hot.” General Davis smiled as he offered up a mug of coffee. “The full sun hasn’t reached the quarry where the Z’s were corralled last night. Most of them are in the east side, cowering in the shade of the east wall. I’m estimating about the best cover of sunlight will be around noon. The view of the quarry zoomed in on the west side. The ground was covered with corpses. The view slowly panned to the eastern side, where hundreds were cowed in the shade.
“Sir, it’s been interesting. As the sun gets higher, they just climb on top of each other to stay in the shade. I estimate that along the wall of the quarry itself, it’s as much as twenty bodies deep. It’s not the sun that’s going to kill them; most will be smothered or crushed to death,” a young lieutenant said, then gave an involuntary shudder.
Peters looked at his watch, noticing it was 0645 already. He went over to the display for the morning operation and watched as the Strykers made their way into town and took up their positions around the small city. The display randomly zoomed in on different teams as they stood outside their vehicles and waited for the word to proceed. Peters began to feel a little nauseous as the minutes drew closer to 0700. He regretted not taking a more hands on approach to the operation and a chance to interact with the teams. He saw Col Nguyen and decided on a post op party for the troops.
“Col Nguyen, I have a new mission that must be completed by 1800. I want a celebration of our first town cleared. Every man will have the chance to have beer and steak tonight. I need your logistics mastery to make it happen. I just came up with the plan. Let me know if you have problems.” Nguyen’s face didn’t betray any of his thoughts or emotions.
“Yes, Sir, I think that’s a wonderful idea. I’d better get busy on that.” All I have to do is find a dozen uninfected cows, butchers, grills, something to go along with the steak and beer. Where the hell am I gonna find beer in the apocalypse?”
If I get a chance, that Army SOB Wendel will have an accident for volunteering us to participate in an operation as a ‘token’ Air Force presence. That brown-nosing bastard’s going down, along with that gutless ‘yes man’ Murphy. “SSgt Barnes, the word has been given to commence clearing operations.” Wetzel announced from his commander’s seat at the front of the Guardian armored car.
“Okay, ladies and gents. Just like we all trained in the shoot house. Now, let’s get out of this tin can and get down to business.” Barnes ordered. SrA Russo was closest to the hatch, dropping first the lower half, then raising the top half, he almost fell out as he exited the vehicle and assumed a position to cover the rest of the team exiting.
The house before them just shouted out ‘middle class America’. A huge SUV and an old work pickup sat in the driveway. The house was a white split-level that looked like it must be two thousand square foot inside. A pair of kids’ bikes lay in the front yard. “Andersen, Popov, check out the perimeter, look for broken windows or open doors. No unnecessary risks. Move”
Barnes began to get uncomfortable, With nine years in, seven of them counting rivets on B52s, the most dangerous thing he’d ever done was pull over a drunk driver before the apocalypse. “SSgt Barnes, since the Zs don’t shoot back, why don’t we go in through the garage door? The remotes are in both vehicles,” SrA Russo suggested. Andersen and Popov rounded the corner at that moment.
“The house is sealed tight, no damage noted.” Andersen reported.
“Rally up! We have change one to the plan already. We’re going to breach the house through the garage. I’ll open the door, then we observe before entering. No firing other than on my command unless we receive fire first.” Rumbling behind them made him stop for a moment as a Stryker pulled up on the opposite side of the street and the troops dismounted, some staring at the sight of Air Force in the field.
Barnes nodded to Russo and he pressed the garage door opener. The opening door faced the east and, as the sun came in, the Zs began shrieking, then a short whimpering, then quiet. A large boat filled the garage so the team split in two prearranged stacks, one on each side of the boat.
Under a workbench, two adult Zs lay on top of two young Zs. The mother wore a familiar red Star Trek nightshirt. My wife has that same shirt. That could be her trying to protect our kids. “I don’t want to hear one damn red shirt joke. Mayer, get your tool, stack on Andersen, prepare to go in. Mayer, see if the doors are unlocked before you use your tool. Andersen, you give the command when ready.” Barnes eyes strayed over to the dead Z mother. He tasted the watery start of bile rising in the back of his throat.
“GO!” Andersen shouted. Mayer opened the door and kicked it open for good measure. Andersen took a step, and then was knocked down as three small dogs rushed by his legs, then a huge working dog followed. They steered their way through the teams’ legs and then out the garage door. The Army team across the street laughed at the Air Force breech attempt, then shouted in horror and scattered as the dogs continued towards them. A single NCO stood his ground and opened up on the dogs when he had a clear field of fire. Two quick braaacks of his M4 on auto, and the dogs lay in the street dead.
“Damn it! Get your heads back in the game!” Barney shouted. A moment later Andersen entered, immediately turning left, the next man through the door turned right, and each following man going the opposite direction of the man ahead of him until they were all in. Half the team found themselves in the kitchen; it was slightly dark with plenty of light leaking through the sheer curtains. Though large, the room was barely big enough for them.
“Clear! Now let’s form up with the rest of the team.” Barnes ordered. The other half of the team was holding in a huge living room/dining room. Andersen continued down the hallway as soon as the team was once again together. A single door on the left was half-open but too dark to see in. He pushed the door open with his M4, using the light to scan the room. He detected movement; he saw a gun with a light. He narrowly avoided firing on his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He entered the bathroom and puked into the sink as his heart refused to slow down.
“Mayer’s take point. Andersen, you’re tail end Charlie, shake it off.” Mayer continued down the hall. The door opened to a home office, nothing appeared disturbed. The hallway was too narrow so the team reversed positions and Andersen found himself at point again as they headed for the stairs.
Andersen went halfway up the stairs and stopped to listen. He could hear his own breathing and heart beating, there was nothing else louder. At the top of the stairs, he turned right as the team divided; half followed him as half went left. He pushed the door open slowly, a huge clear master bedroom gave him a feeling of relief that turned to dread when he saw two more closed doors. Obviously, the doors were only to a bathroom and closet, but he had to check them out. The team set their positions as he turned the door knob enough to open and then kicked it open. The palatial bathroom left him in shock; a huge tub next to the show
er were on the opposite side of the bathroom from twin sinks and a makeup station. The toilet and bidet were in the corner. “Dang, my wife would really…” Barnes stopped and started to choke up. He hadn’t seen his wife since the rise of the Zs. He turned and walked over to the other door and just opened it. The closet was bigger than his home’s master bedroom. “We’re done, let’s get the hell out of here.”
The other half of the team waited in the hallway. “Time to move, we only have a fifty or so more houses to do today.” Any semblance of a tactical team was lost as he moved towards the door to the garage.
“SSgt Barnes, one more door.” Barnes saw red and wanted to hurt the airman, but he caught himself before he said or did anything.
“Good catch. Russo, you take this one.” Andersen moved forward to open the door to make it easier for Russo to do the entry. Russo took a step in and began to fall; Popov grabbed him by his body armor and pulled him back. Barnes moved forward to see there was a narrow, homemade stairway made of lumber. The steps going down were steep.
“Take a breath, Russo. Go when you’re ready.” Russo stepped forward and flipped the light switch that didn’t work. He cursed silently to himself as he took two steps and scanned the basement on all sides of the stairway. There were boxes and clutter from years of accumulation. He proceeded almost to the bottom when his foot was pulled out from under him and he fell the remaining few steps to the bottom. He caught movement under the stairs at the same time as he heard the voice.
“Please, help me.” The voice was barely a whisper and labored. Russo pulled his M4 from under him and aimed it at the sound. The light showed what he estimated to be a ninety-year-old woman.
Zombie Airman Page 27
