The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade

by Demers, J. D.

  “You sure you can drive this?” Fish asked Coleman as we jumped into the truck.

  “Not my first time,” Coleman said with a smile.

  “He’ll do fine,” Luke assured us.

  In five minutes, our two vehicles were headed for the school.

  It didn’t take long before we came across the baseball diamonds on the southwest side of the campus. DJ had done well. Only a few stragglers were seen as the Stryker approached the first dugout. Pittman made short work of them, picking them off from the top of the Armored Vehicle.

  We, on the other hand, had a few stunts to pull off before we could breach the main building.

  The main office where the keys were being held was on the east side of the school. Thankfully so was the auditorium and the location of a major supply stash. The number of zombies inside the school was still undetermined, and we had to play it safe.

  The first recon with Eagle One showed all doors on the school, with the exception of a side exit, were closed. That could be for any number of reasons. Refugees could have been trying to make a last stand or the military could have chained the doors shut. There was also the possibility of survivors inside, though doubtful after the time that had passed.

  Coleman drove the truck toward the west side of the school. Fish reached down to the floor board and grabbed a bag. After rifling through it for a moment, he pulled out six familiar devices.

  He tossed one of the objects to Burghardt.

  “What the hell is this?” the sergeant asked, staring at the small, mechanical toy that was reminiscent of a hand buzzer.

  “It’s a popper,” I told him. “We use them to draw out or distract Zulus.”

  He pinched the small handle and wound it. Burghardt let go and a loud rapping sound emanated from the popper. After a couple seconds, the noise stopped.

  “Wind it long enough, it will go on for a couple minutes,” I said as Fish handed me one.

  Burghardt nodded in approval.

  Fish turned to Coleman as he pulled the truck down a thin road leading toward the school.

  “Alright, buttercup, drop me off here. Hit the next door and let Burghardt drop his popper. After that, swing back and get me and we go to our entry point.”

  Coleman nodded. “You got it, man.”

  The truck slowed down a hundred feet in front of two sets of double doors. Fish jumped out and jogged toward them as we sped off north of the school.

  Burghardt exited the truck when we stopped in front of a single set of double doors. Luke stepped out of the F350 and provided cover.

  Sergeant Burghardt wasted no time and flung the doors open. Two zombies were within five feet of the Sergeant, but Luke popped off two shots from his new suppressed M4 and took them down.

  After he tossed the popper to the ground, Burghardt ran and jumped in the bed of the truck as we took off to pick up Fish.

  Fish had been waiting at the school’s entrance. Once we were in sight, he opened all four doors and deployed his popper. We slowed down to a crawl while he joined Burghardt in the back. Coleman gunned it and we rounded the southern side of the school, heading for the eastern doors.

  We turned and headed down a wide walk way, directly toward the entrance on the east wing.

  My radio crackled as Burghardt barked out orders.

  “Coleman, leave ten feet in front of the doors. Fish and I will get the doors, then you push the zed-shoe on the opening.”

  “Got it,” Coleman replied.

  The F350 stopped just ahead of the school entrance. Fish and Burghardt jumped out of the truck and each took a side of the doorway. The double doors were closed, but no zombies could be seen through the slatted glass windows.

  They pulled the doors open and Coleman pressed the gas, ramming the doorway with the front mounted zed-shoe. The fencing slightly buckled, but held firm around the doorway.

  Immediately, everyone but Coleman got out of the truck. Burghardt jumped on the hood, joined by Luke. Both had sledge hammers in their hands and stood at waist level with the fencing.

  “Take up guard,” Fish grunted as he hopped back into the bed of the truck.

  There wasn’t a whole lot of room with the dismantled cow catcher lying in the bed, so Boomer and I took up position on the north side of the F350. Jodi climbed into the bed and wedged herself near the cab of the truck.

  A dozen or so zombies were coming out of the nearby woods, attracted by our diesel engine. Fish and I began to take them down one by one. I could hear the moans of the dead coming from inside the school, but I stayed focused. Once I was sure all of our targets were down, I whipped around and aimed my weapon toward the entrance of the school.

  Boomer had moved to the fence and growled at the incoming zombies. There were only a few at first. They shambled into the zed-shoe, gripping at the links of the fence. Luke and Burghardt gave no quarter, bashing each one as it came within range, drawn by the rattling of the F350’s engine.

  More began to fill the hallway. First ten, then a few dozen, all heading toward us.

  Fish called Campbell over the comms.

  “At the doors, Captain. What’s it look like out there?”

  “Nothing we can’t handle. Eagle Two shows about fifty or so Zulus coming out of the school where you opened the doors. Pittman is drawing them in with poppers and we’re taking them down in detail. We were able to get the two POL trucks started, but will definitely need keys for some of the others.”

  Campbell paused for a moment and then called DJ.

  “Alpha Team, report?”

  “Going as well as it can,” DJ grunted. “They’re following us, but we’re starting to get boxed in. One more mile and we’re going to loop around.”

  “Roger that,” Campbell replied. “Radio ahead before you begin your turn.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  I kept skimming the area, looking for threats. A few more zombies were exiting the woods. I finished off the last one, emptying my magazine and exchanging it for a new one.

  “Lady, keep your eyes open,” Fish commanded Jodi. “Let us know if any Zulus are headed our way.”

  Fish hopped out of the truck and made his way to the fencing. I turned and joined him and Boomer

  The zed-shoe was slowly filling up. Zombies were tripping and falling over their dead comrades as they fought to get at us. The device worked. Even when they pressed hard against it, the weight of the F350 held the zed-shoe tight. I imagined that even if they could push the truck back, a simple press of the gas would keep it in place.

  Three minutes later, over thirty zombies lay motionless on the ground inside the zed-shoe. Burghardt and Luke, breathing heavily from exhaustion, jumped off the hood of the truck.

  “Three more coming down the hallway. Back up and Christian and I will handle them,” Fish ordered Coleman.

  He complied, slowly pulling the truck back.

  “Burghardt,” Fish barked, turning to the Sergeant. “You and Nomad stay with Coleman. Hold this position. Jodi, you’re with the kid and me.”

  Burghardt, took up a defensive position with Luke by the truck.

  Fish turned to me and Jodi as we climbed over the dead bodies in front of the doorway.

  “Lady, you stick between me and the kid and give directions. I’ll bring up the rear and close any open doors behind us. Kid, you’re in front with Boomer. Keep your eye on the ball.”

  Boomer and I marched forward, my weapon raised and ready for action.

  The hallway was lined with doorways about thirty feet apart. Most were already closed. Fish would quickly scan the open ones and then shut them, just in case a zombie was hiding somewhere inside.

  I glanced at Boomer, trying to catch signs of agitation. Unfortunately, the stench in the air alone had the canine on edge. I was more focused on his ears, though. They would be the alert I would need if a zombie or scab was near.

  Jodi motioned to the right.

  “This way. It’s down that hallway.”

  Bo
omer began to show zombie signs as we approached the hallway. I tensed up, preparing to fire.

  I rounded the corner and saw four zombies heading our way. They were a good twenty feet down the corridor though, and we were in no immediate danger. Three were in army fatigues with their M4 rifles still slung in front of them. Their uniforms were ripped and torn with brown stains. One was missing an eye and half of the flesh on his face while another’s entire arm had been ripped off.

  The last was a woman who no longer had meat on her legs. She clawed and dragged her way toward us with her bones scraping the linoleum floor behind her. Her impeded movement put her well behind the three soldier zombies.

  At first, I thought she should have regenerated something on her legs, like most zombies tend to do over time. I then realized that there was very little, if anything, to feed on in the school and therefore no way to restore the proteins and nutrients they needed to regenerate.

  Then another thought occurred to me. What if the other zombies fed off her? There was no proof, but still that would be a positive thing for the living if zombies were eating each other when all other food sources were absent.

  The three soldiers picked up their pace as soon as Boomer and I came into view. Boomer growled, wanting to charge in but I grabbed his handle and held him back.

  “Stay!” I ordered. Releasing the handle, I took aim and began to pick off the four zombies.

  Boomer obeyed, only moving forward when the four were down. He sniffed around them as I approached from behind, withdrawing my small sledge hammer.

  I smacked each dead zombie in the head as I passed.

  “Watch it,” Fish growled. Two pops came from behind me.

  I glanced up to see another zombie fall. It had come from an open door on the right.

  “Boomer!” I hissed, pointing at the doorway.

  The canine lurched forward, sniffing and patrolling the door. After a moment, he glanced up at me, tongue sagging as he panted.

  “Empty,” I reported, and began to walk forward again.

  The wide corridor ended about a hundred feet in front of me with two sets of double doors and a sign that read AUDITORIUM.

  “Here,” Jodie whispered and pointed to a wall of glass.

  The large window appeared to be shatterproof, as numerous bullet holes had created spider webbing across the large pane, but the structure had held. A single door was propped open by a duffle bag.

  In the room behind the glass was a large counter and a bunch of chairs. Around the reception area were four doors, most likely the principal and dean offices.

  “Kid, check out the room, I’m going to check the auditorium,” Fish said as he walked past me. He shut any doors that remained open between him and the doors at the end of the hall.

  I nodded and called Boomer over.

  “Stay behind me,” I told Jodi.

  Boomer sniffed at the door. His ears perked and he whined anxiously. I glanced back at Jodi.

  “Stay far behind me.”

  I cracked the door and Boomer rushed in, sniffing everywhere. He went rigid as a commotion came from the door labeled ‘Principal Leigh’.

  “I got them!” Jodi said in excitement.

  I spun, irritated at the distraction.

  “Quiet!”

  She shot me an apologetic look as she held a box close to her chest.

  “Get down.”

  She obeyed and ducked behind the counter.

  Boomer and I approached the principal’s office. I took out my popper and wound it up, edging Boomer behind me to keep him out of the doorway.

  Quickly, I opened the door and tossed the popper across and away from me.

  A zombie in uniform stumbled out. I didn’t get a look at his face because he immediately charged the small object that was making noise on the ground.

  Boomer leapt from my side and grabbed its Achilles tendon as it shambled toward the popper. The canine yanked back, tripping the zombie. Deciding to just use a bullet, I shot a round through the back of its head. The zombie slumped over the popper, unmoving.

  “Get ‘em?” Fish asked as he walked in the reception area.

  “Yes!” Jodi smiled.

  “Alright. Kid, stay here and hold down the fort. I’m going to take her back to the truck and get Coleman over to the baseball fields. Be back in two minutes.”

  “Okay,” I nodded and the two darted back into the corridor.

  I glanced over to Boomer who was sniffing the zombie I had just killed. The popper was still going off, creating a muffled, rattling sound underneath the dead soldier.

  I took out my small sledge and rolled the body over. The man’s face had the obvious exit wound of the round I had fired into the back of his head. Just below that was an older exit wound. I looked over the body. A tiny black eagle was stitched on the center of his uniform along with half a dozen bullet holes. The name “Muller” was opposite of his U.S. Army patch. I continued to search, looking for a bite wound of some kind, but didn’t find one.

  I retrieved the popper and shoved it into my pocket.

  Rolling the body back over, I examined the back of the skull, moving the graying brown hair around. There were two entry wounds. Mine, and another, older one which had evidence of healing.

  I was no coroner or CSI investigator, but I was almost certain the Colonel had been shot to death without getting infected. Burghardt said he had shot him between the eyes but didn’t say the conditions under which he did it. I had assumed…or hoped…that it was because Colonel Muller had been infected.

  Burghardt did lie about one thing. The shot had not been between the eyes, it had been behind his head.

  I looked over to Boomer, knowing that if trouble was coming, he would alert me. He seemed his normal self. On guard, but not alerted.

  I pulled up the back of the Colonel’s jersey and found that the shots had exited his back. So, lack of medical and police training notwithstanding, I concluded he had been shot numerous times in the front, and then shot once in the back of the head to prevent him from reanimating too quickly.

  Colonel Muller had been murdered.

  I struggled with the idea of telling Fish. I decided then and there that it really didn’t matter. I lifted the small sledge hammer and bashed his head until I was positive he would never rise again.

  Fish jogged into the reception area, breathing hard.

  “Everything okay, kid?”

  I nodded as I stood.

  “All clear.”

  Burghardt came up behind Fish.

  “You okay?” the sergeant grunted.

  “Y-Yeah,” I said, stammering. “Just finishing off a Zulu.”

  Fish walked back into the hallway.

  “Clean your breaker, kid. We have about ten Zulus in the auditorium we have to deal with.”

  The radio crackled with reports as we began to clear the auditorium. It was fairly easy. We had perfected the art of using poppers to draw zombies into a kill zone over the past of couple months. The large room was safe in less than two minutes.

  DJ had started his return. He estimated three thousand zombies were following him. Coleman, Jodi, and Luke brought the keys to Campbell, and they were sending two empty trucks to the auditorium to collect the supplies.

  Glancing around the room, I wasn’t sure if two trucks would be enough. There had to be four pallets of MREs, eight fifty gallon drums of water, cases upon cases of FEMA supplies which probably consisted of both food and survival gear and last, but definitely not least, a crap load of ammunition.

  Reviewing the crates of ammo, I saw everything from .556 ammo to .762, 30 mm, 50-caliber and more. There were grenades, more claymores, anti-tank mines and missiles.

  “Jesus Christ, Burghardt, were you guys planning on going to war?” Fish was incredulous.

  “All I know is that the higher-ups knew a collapse was either possible or imminent. We were ordered to deploy with a full load out.” Burghardt slapped one of the crates. “This is barely a tenth
of what we left Bragg with. Most stockpiles were abandoned in various deployment locations. I’m guessing the brass thought this virus might have been a prelude to war or invasion. They wanted all of their units prepared for anything.”

  Fish chuckled.

  “Guess you can do anything when martial law is implemented.”

  “Will two trucks be enough?” I asked.

  “Probably not,” Fish said. “We better get more if possible. We’re not making a second trip.” Fish clicked his transmitter. “Captain. We have a lot of shit here. Going to need more than two trucks.”

  “Roger that. We’re moving the entire convoy now. Be there in five. We’ll determine what we’re going to take and what we’re going to leave.”

  “Roger, sir.”

  DJ keyed into the conversation.

  “How much time do you need Fish? My ETA is two-zero mikes.”

  Fish did a quick inventory.

  “Looking more like three-zero. Think you can postpone?”

  “Dammit man,” DJ grumbled. “Big Red is tough, but you’re asking a lot. Already using our flamers to keep them off the sides. The streets are getting gummed up in Zulu goo.”

  The flamers were the improvised flame throwers we had made from propane tanks. Though effective up to fifteen feet, their lifespan was short. I doubted DJ had enough to keep the zombies off the fire engine for too long.

  “Do the best you can,” Campbell cut in.

  “Roger that, sir,” DJ replied irritably.

  We opened the rear exits to the auditorium. Luckily, there weren’t any zombies nearby. Just a few minutes passed before Campbell’s Stryker led a caravan of trucks our way. Pulling up the rear was another Stryker, armed with a 50-caliber machinegun.

  It took forty minutes to load the gear. DJ grumbled and bitched the whole time until finally one of the Strykers departed to assist the fire truck.

  An hour later, we were on our way back to the storage center. We deployed Molotov cocktails behind us to deter the zombies from following us.

  The sun was setting when we pulled into camp. The loud, numerous diesel engines roared, creating a lot of commotion and dragging around a hundred zombies in our wake. Big Red swung around and dispatched them easily, mowing them down like grass.