Soldier On: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (Trudge)

by Shawn Chesser

  “There’s a Black Hawk helicopter on the roof.”

  “Are you sure it’s not a news chopper?” Fuentes asked hoping that it was. After all he could handle a news crew. A group of gung ho soldiers was a whole nother can of worms.

  “No sir. I’ve had the displeasure of being a passenger on a helicopter like the one upstairs. I’ve never been so sick. Those pilots think anyone can handle high g-forces.” Jessica shuddered, remembering how much time her face had spent buried in the air sickness bag. If she remembered right, the maneuvers got more extreme when it was apparent to all on board that she was a “puker” as they had so fondly labeled her.

  Fuentes looked up from the experiment he was performing on the squirming cadaver strapped to the stainless steel table. “Are there any markings on the chopper: Air Force, Army, Marines...?”

  The image from the rooftop dome was a little grainy and in the low light Hanson couldn’t read the markings. “No Doctor.” In her best spooky voice, “It’s a black helicopter.”

  Doctor Fuentes was known as the resident conspiracy theorist and he always caught hell for it.

  Matter-of-factly, like he was in his home, the Doctor said, “We had better tidy up if we are going to be receiving guests.”

  Optimistically Hanson added, “On the bright side. It’s good to know there are still people alive out there; even if they are from some government organization.”

  Always the consummate smart ass, Fuentes chimed in, “And I thought that I had filed my last tax return.”

  “That’s not even remotely funny. Millions-maybe even billions are dead and they are the lucky ones. Unfortunately a huge percentage of the population is like him, dead and walking around hunting for any living thing to eat.” She nodded her head at the zombie writhing on the table. “Doctor don’t you forget for one second...we still have family somewhere out there.”

  Jessica Hanson was no idiot; days ago both she and the good doctor had come to the same conclusion. They probably had a better chance of being struck by lightning than finding their loved ones still breathing.

  “Doctor Hanson please cycle the cameras to the south stairwell.” The image of the helicopter was replaced by the south stairwell view; three men clad in combat gear, brandishing stubby machineguns now filled the screen. Even in the dim cone of light emitted from the emergency lamps, there was no mistaking the men with guns for the undead.

  “Open the door, they’re heeere,” Doctor Fuentes said, mimicking the little girl from the horror movie Poltergeist.

  Chapter 23

  Outbreak Day 5

  Schriever AFB

  Colorado Springs, Colorado

  The man Brook sought was nowhere to be found. The few Airmen that gave her the time of day instantly clammed up and sent her packing at the mere mention of Colonel Shrill. She knew, from being the wife of a soldier, when she was being sent up the chain of command.

  Only an hour into her search, she found herself standing in the empty office belonging to the woman in charge of every satellite in the U.S. arsenal. Cold air buffeted Brook, causing goose bumps to form on her exposed skin. The heat outside was pretty intense so she didn’t mind the ten minute wait standing directly in front of the government issue air conditioner. It was apparent that this small space belonged to a career Air force Officer, all kinds of plaques and certificates graced the institutional brown walls.

  Brook had almost always been the smallest woman in the room, which changed the moment Major Freda Nash walked into the icebox of an office. Brook’s jaw nearly hit the floor when the woman, a full inch shorter than she, strode purposefully in, looked her in the eye and sat down behind the clunky metal desk without saying a word.

  The Major didn’t speak and Brook didn’t want to start her unannounced meeting off on the wrong foot, an uneasy silence ensued. It was like two Chihuahuas caught in a staring contest.

  Against her better judgment, Brook spoke first, too much was at stake. “With all due respect...” Brook attempted to read the nameplate cloaked by the clutter on the desk top, “Nash, did I read that right?”

  “That is correct,” the intense Major replied, “and you are.”

  “Brooklyn Grayson, my husband Cade was very active in the Special Operations community until a year and some months ago-but he’s not the reason I need to speak to you.”

  Before she could continue, Major Nash interrupted. The diminutive officer spoke in rapid fire sentences, barely stopping to breathe or let Brook get a word in edgewise.

  “I knew the name sounded familiar. Your husband did good things for this country. His name was spoken in high regard, albeit in hushed tones, in the halls of Congress and the Pentagon. In case you weren’t aware, your man, either directly or indirectly was involved in killing or capturing a good chunk of the deck in Iraq. I know for a he was there when the Aces were taken out.”

  Brook hadn’t been privy to the classified stuff. She had no idea that the Ace of hearts and the Ace of clubs Major Nash referred to were in fact, Saddam’s sons, Uday and Qusay Hussein. Cade would never tell a soul, but he had actually put a bullet in Uday’s brain to make his brother talk. Uday was on his way to paradise anyway. Qusay spilled his guts but unfortunately the impromptu interrogation didn’t lead to Saddam’s capture. Before anyone left the destroyed compound, Qusay was allowed to bleed out, alone on the dirty living room floor on the second story of his “safe” house.

  Finally the Major paused long enough for Brook to continue on and plead her case. “I was actually trying to get an audience with Colonel Shrill and that’s how I came to be standing in front of you. A wife of a soldier in the “Unit” is here on the base and she is very close to going into labor...in fact she’s days past her due date. To make a short story long,” Brook’s attempt to break the ice with a little play on words was totally lost on-or intentionally ignored by the hyper major.

  “Continue I’m listening.”

  “Annie Desantos is the wife of Mike Desantos he operated out of Fort Bragg...”

  Once again Major Nash butted in before Brook could finish her thought.

  “I never would have fathomed that Bragg would cease to exist. That place was supposed to be impenetrable. Short of a suitcase nuke, nothing could touch it. Especially like that Fort Hood crap. To answer your question, yes, I know Mike. As a matter of fact we have been assisting him on his current mission...but that is-need to know information.”

  Brook’s eyes widened, “Mike is on an Op then? That is great news. I’ll let Annie know as soon as I see her; it sure will lessen her stress level.” Brook tried to speak to the major so that she would follow and hopefully not interrupt again. “I’m a nurse, and I’m going to help the doctor deliver Annie’s baby. I need a way to get to Saint Francis Medical. We need the proper equipment to deliver Mike’s first son safely into the world.”

  Nash answered, as if Brook were a neighbor asking for a cup of sugar and it was no big deal. “Saint Francis has...” Nash caught herself mid sentence, “had a top notch neonatal center. If the place hasn’t been overrun by the dead then you are good to go. At any rate, anything you need Mrs. Grayson. I will personally make the necessary calls.”

  “Thank you, Major.” Brook was stunned-after their icy introduction, she had no reason to expect this positive of an outcome, but feared that she was going to have to fight someone for assistance or at the least, twist some paper pushers arm. It was a blessing that she had found a woman who saw things eye to eye with her-literally.

  The door had barely closed behind Brook when Freda Nash picked up the phone and punched in a number.

  Chapter 24

  Outbreak Day 6

  Centers for Disease Control

  Atlanta, Georgia

  As soon as the mechanical sounds from the door ceased, Clark moved closer and rapped twice with his free hand, silenced weapon at the ready.

  “Come in.” The disembodied voice sounded from the far side of the thick door and echoed around the in stairwell.


  Clark took out his collapsible mini mirror, extended it halfway and used it to inspect what awaited beyond the door. Dressed in white lab coats, a man and a woman stood a few feet from the entrance, waiting to greet the intruders.

  A man’s voice said, “It’s safe to come in, we’ve been waiting for the cavalry to come calling.”

  The door was easier to open than it looked. Desantos estimated that it weighed at least a ton. “Back away and keep your hands where I can see them.” The doctors complied while Desantos kept his weapon trained on them. In a blur of motion the other five operators fanned out and cleared the room.

  “Don’t go near the patient on the table,” the woman shouted.

  “We know full well what your patient is capable of. If I get any closer to that monster I promise you it won’t be to make friends.” Clark had long ago stopped feeling empathy for who the undead used to be.

  “Take it easy...this one has to be studied. You’re looking at the Alpha carrier,” to protect it, the doctor stepped between the soldiers and the undead creature.

  Clark bristled, “No better reason than that to put two in its brain.”

  “Stand down soldier.” Desantos turned his attention to the scientists and started asking questions. “Tell me doctor, how did he get infected?”

  “Judging by the track marks on his arm, he injected himself with the virus. I believe someone with a security clearance much higher than mine is calling it the Omega virus...or something like that. At any rate, it is aptly named. We may be looking at the end of the human race as we know it.”

  “How did the infection spread from Alpha to the population? Does anyone know what happened?”

  “We were only privy to the police report. Alpha infected two people at an Italian restaurant. They both received minor bites...”

  Desantos interrupted, “Why weren’t they rounded up and quarantined?”

  “That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. The first two refused to be taken to the hospital. They didn’t even care that he could be carrying hepatitis and might have given it to them. There was apparently a little bit of a language barrier, which may be why they refused.”

  “Illegals?” Lopez asked.

  Fuentes took a swig from his bottled water and replaced it on the stainless steel autopsy table. The alpha specimen intently eyed his every move. “We will never know. They left as soon as they were bandaged up, a little boy and his mom.”

  “So they took the bug with them.” Desantos processed the information for a second. “What happened next?”

  “Well...one of the waiters held him down until the ambulance crew arrived. After a little more of a struggle-during which time the ambulance drivers were infected-they strapped him to a gurney and transported him to Bethesda.” Fuentes stopped at that, he had a feeling that the General knew the rest of the story.

  Mike rubbed his tired eyes. “I heard that the hospital was like a war zone. Seven SF operators died getting this monster out of there. That was where the shit really hit the fan. It was the beginning of the end. Washington D.C. was teeming with tens of thousands of deranged flesh-eaters before nightfall.” Mike stared at a spot on the floor. “I saw Washington from the air with my own eyes...the city was on fire. It all still feels like it never happened...like I’ll wake up any second and find the world back to normal.”

  Fuentes waited until he was certain the General was finished and then continued his account. “I was here when the soldiers, led by a Captain, I think he said his name was Gaines-delivered the Alpha. We received the police report and a top secret folder containing instructions from President Odero to drop everything, study this one and find a way to stop the spread of Omega. The Captain had me destroy both of the documents as soon as Hanson and I had finished reading them. I’ve never even seen a burn bag before-pretty effective.”

  Desantos was done reflecting on the past. He issued orders for his men to collect any and all documents pertaining to the outbreak. “Doctor Fuentes, will you please help my men properly prepare the specimen for transport?”

  “Yes sir.” Fuentes fetched the straight jacket and hood the Alpha was wrapped in when it arrived.

  “Hanson, please help my men collect all of the flash drives and remove the hard drives from the computers.”

  “Consider it done.” Hanson hurriedly peeled off her lab coat and immediately went to work. It was apparent that she was eager to get some fresh air.

  ***

  Lopez held onto the ghoul’s restless legs, he couldn’t stand to watch as the thick burlap sack moved and undulated on Maddox shoulder. He and Maddox lugged the Alpha specimen up the seemingly never ending flights of stairs. Lopez was a very religious man and he found it unsettling to be so close to one of the demons without putting a bullet in its brain.

  “It’s a shame we can’t just cut the bastards head off. It would be easier to hump up the stairs, that’s for sure,” Lopez said, as he shifted the moving bag to a different pressure point on his shoulder.

  “Hey Doc, have you seen one of these things lose its head? It’s eerie how the eyes still follow, even with no body attached.” Clark shuddered at the mental image.

  “I hate to break it to you, but we need the whole package,” Fuentes said, brushing off the initial question. If only Lopez could have seen the experiments they’d conducted on other infected; people they used to work with, as well as walkers they plucked off of the street. The things that he had done in the name of science will haunt him for the rest of his life. The soldier didn’t know what he was missing, Fuentes thought, and his ignorance truly is bliss.

  Desantos issued an order. “Calvin, take point. I’ll watch our six. Clark, you and Brent collect Haskell’s body when we get to the fourteenth floor.”

  Clark was honored to carry his fallen team member to the helicopter. He would walk through lava for “Cowboy” and he certainly was glad that he hadn’t been ordered to carry the hissing, bagged and gagged monster to the waiting helo.

  Chapter 25

  Outbreak Day 5

  Stanley, Idaho

  Stanley was quiet, way too quiet for Dan’s liking. Even if the state fair was going on in Boise, with its draw of games of chance and greasy food, there would be some people out and about at this hour.

  Mountainview Boulevard was usually festooned with colorful flags and banners year round, advertising upcoming holidays, bazaars or festivals. Dan hoped that the person strung up alongside the vibrant “Summer Days Classic Car Cruise In” banner wasn’t his old friend Sheriff Blanda. The closer he got the tighter the knot in his gut constricted.

  Dan stood at the base of the light standard and shed a tear. The man’s leather boots, spit shined at all times, were directly at eye level; swaying from each gust of wind that rolled off of the mountains warming flanks. Dan caught fleeting glimpses of his own bearded face reflected in the brilliant hand buffed sheen. Someone, probably the Aryans, had hoisted him off of the ground, tightened a coiled noose around his neck and left the cities only lawman to be eaten by the crows. Dan considered shooting the feeding opportunists but decided that he didn’t need the unwanted attention gunfire might bring. If he could talk to the animals, like Doctor Doolittle, he would tell the noisy birds where they could find Mikey Connell’s cooling corpse.

  Dan had no way to reach the rope, to cut his friend down, so he reluctantly left him swinging and trudged up the narrow street towards Lizzie’s house. All of the houses, on both sides of the side street were still dark inside. Strange, no kids watching cartoons and not one lady of the house cooking breakfast at this hour. The pieces of this puzzle were still scattered all over the card table in Dan’s mind. He was baffled. A few times he detected shadows flitting by closed drapes, but not one person came out to offer a greeting. Dan was no social gadfly, but neither was he a pariah in Stanley.

  As he walked, he found himself deep in thought rehashing the events of the last few days.

  He was a little troubled that he f
elt no remorse about killing the Connell kid. His dad and mom had been nice enough and Dan wondered to himself where they went wrong? It had been more than thirty years since he had killed another human being and he had a feeling Mikey Connell wouldn’t be the last; Sheriff Bob Blanda’s murderers were the perfect candidates.

  The years of outdoors activities had left the man a minor case of arthritis that made it necessary to stop every so often. Elizabeth Paxton’s house was one block ahead on the left. The Victorian era painted lady shone in the morning sunshine, the old three story house was painted in yellows and oranges with dashes of purple thrown in. It truly matched Lizzie’s personality.

  Dan pinned his hopes on her being up and willing to talk to him. God was he feeling lonely, and after what he had been through at Bo’s store he really needed to talk to another human being.

  Gosh darn steps. Three flights meandered up from the street to Lizzie’s purple door. If knees could talk, Dan’s would have screamed, “No way.” Finally standing in front of the door, Dan wiped the perspiration from his face. After taking a much needed breather, he stood and listened for movement inside the home. Nothing, Dan rapped on the door three times. Given the stillness of the town the knocks sounded like he used a baseball bat. There was still no movement from inside.

  He wrestled with the decision to turn around and go home or test the door and see if it was locked. The latter won out.

  “Elizabeth, it’s me Dan...” in mid sentence the sickly sweet odor hit him full in the face. He flashed back to Nam and the smells and sights he could never purge from the deepest recesses of his mind. Dan silently vowed to himself that when the day was done he was going to call the VA hospital in Boise and see if he could have his head examined-so to speak.

  Crossing the threshold into the parlor of Lizzie’s home was the hardest thing he had done in years. Fully afraid of what he was going to find, he forced his legs to propel him deeper inside the dimly lit residence.