by RW Krpoun
“I had a bunch of the food in my pack, but I dropped my pack when I moved on the truck, and I’m too gimped up to even think about going back for it.”
“I’ll get it,” Dyson volunteered. “I’m a stealthy bastard, bow hunt and all that. The sun should start setting in twenty minutes-I’ll go before full dark.”
“These aren’t deer,” Marv pointed out.
“I can out-run ‘em if I have to,” the martial artist shrugged. “I’m willing.”
“OK, if you’re sure. What was in the bags I brought in?”
“The black bag had a Mac-10 and five extra magazines for it, plus six of these magazines,” JD held one up.
“P-mags for an AR-15 family weapon,” Marv grinned. “I’ll carry them-I feel lost with my pouches empty.”
“And six hundred rounds of 9mm, one hundred rounds of 5.56mm, and fifty rounds of twelve gauge buckshot, all boxed. The pack had five rolls of duct tape, and a lot of rope.”
“That helps. Addison, can you use a Mac-10? Good, since you don’t like long guns, it’s yours. Give the SiG to Doc. Now all we have to do is arm Dyson- he can have our one bat until things pick up. Our firepower just took a big jump.”
“Not enough firepower to get across that bridge,” Bear pointed out. “And there doesn’t look like another bridge for quite a ways in either direction.”
Marv struggled to his feet and studied the waterway. “Anybody a real strong swimmer?”
“Yeah, I am,” Dyson said.
“Could you swim this river towing a safety line?”
The Georgian stood and studied the expanse. “Yeah.”
“At night?”
“Sure.”
“OK,” Marv lowered himself back to a seated position. “JD, bring the rope here. Yeah, this could work. We set up a ferry, pull one of those crash barrels back and forth. They’re about a hundred gallon size, so they should displace enough water to support one passenger. Once Dyson gets the rope to the other side it’s a matter of hauling. You still game, Dyson?”
“Hell, yeah!”
“OK, come twilight you get the food-pack and suss out the lay of the barrels. They’re bright yellow, so getting one without the infected noticing will be tricky. We’ll cross under the cover of darkness and hole up someplace. One more thing,” the big Ranger dug into his thigh pocket. “Doc, you are the electronic guru: can you fix this?”
Doc examined the satellite phone. “Not with what I have-the antenna has broken off and the battery pack is damaged. With some tools and some spares…maybe.”
“You’ve had a sat phone this whole time?” JD demanded.
Marv held up a hand. “Issue phone, and not even issued to me directly. The charger was lost in the chopper crash, so my orders were to conserve battery power at all costs.”
“The mission’s parameters are certainly not Staff Sergeant Burleson’s fault,” Captain Jack pointed out. “He is a man under orders.”
“I guess,” JD muttered. “The bitch was out of the country before we met, anyhow.”
“Speaking of commo, Doc, can you access the Net?”
“Sort of.”
“Could I send an e-mail?”
“Probably.”
“Let’s try.”
After sending an e-mail giving his position and the data learned, Marv took JD and Bear aside on a pretext. “The sat phone thing got me thinking. Keep this to yourselves-I mean nobody else knows. See this: it is the mission. We call it the payload.”
“What’s in it?” Bear asked.
“I’m not sure, but if we can get it to Texas, the CDC might be able to use it for something to do with the virus. I think its from the bioweapon they captured in Miami. The important thing is that if anything happens to me, one of you needs to get it through. These are an unsecure phone line and an e-mail address, plus the coordinates for the delivery point in Texas. They’re supposed to be sending a chopper to get it, but the way today is going I’m not taking any chances.”
“Nothing personal, but one Ranger doesn’t seem enough of an escort,” JD observed.
“There were two of us and the Fed carrying the payload on a Coast Guard bird. One refueling stop and we would have been there. The puddle pirates decided to mutiny and I ended up with the payload, on foot without my weapon or most of my gear. It has left me with a distrusting nature,” Marv grinned. “But it’s too important to risk getting lost. Can I count on you guys?”
“Being a hero will certainly help in the custody battle,” JD nodded. “I’m in.”
“I wouldn’t mind some expunging of my record,” Bear grinned. “Let’s get this bad boy across the goal line.”
Dyson proved as good as his word, making two trips to recover the pack and the barrel without incident. After a quick meal the Georgian swam across at a point well out of view of the Interstate, and they began the wearying task of hauling people and equipment across the river.
Marv was the final load, figuring that the south bank was the higher risk zone. “That went better than I thought,” he observed to JD, who was examining the sodden rope.
“Yeah. Man, being wet makes this stuff weigh a ton. By the way, the Adams took off.”
“Who?”
“The couple from Illinois.”
“Ohio,” Bear corrected him.
“Whatever.”
“Where did they go?” Marv asked without much interest.
“Towards the Interstate.”
“That reminds me,” Bear snapped his fingers. “There was a woman in a purple tee shirt-I meant to double back and look for her.”
“Too late now.” Marv moved further up the muddy shore, trying to get his bearings by the light of a quarter moon, his thick coating of Off keeping the cloud of mosquitoes at bay, but just barely. “Any ideas?”
“Captain Jack did a little scouting, says there’s a shack three hundred yards to the east.”
“Sounds good enough. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not inclined to play ‘find the zombie’ in the dark. A good night’s sleep will only improve our chances.”
A tap on the sole of his foot brought Marv instantly awake, pistol in hand. He recognized Bear’s outline in the thin pre-dawn light even as the biker lifted both hands in a truce gesture. “Thanks,” he mumbled, sitting up and checking his watch: zero six forty.
Groaning his way to his feet, he shaved and went through his morning ablutions as best as conditions allowed. He had slept deeply, but now he ached all over, a dozen bruises and abrasions burned, the welts where mosquitos had gotten past the bug-spray itched, and his uniform was damp and filthy.
“Another day in the Infantry,” he muttered as he repacked his ALICE pack and donned his MOLLE vest.
“What?” Doc asked.
“Nothing. Thanks for the muscle relaxers last night.”
“No problem. Take these,” the medic handed him two anti-inflammatory pills and two extra-strength Tylenol.
“Thanks, Doc.”
“What’s the plan?” Bear asked as Captain Jack served out fried Spam sandwiches and canned peaches.
“Head to the Interstate. We need to get a vehicle, more firepower, food, medical supplies, better gear, clean clothes. Everything, really. Once we get wheels we’ll see how traffic is-we might want to switch to secondary roads. Doc, how’s the Net?”
“Zero reception. Anybody got a phone with any bars?” No one did.
“OK, pack your gear. JD, did you check this place for anything useful?”
“Yeah. Only thing worth carrying is a little first aid kit.”
The Gnomes headed west on the deeply rutted track, seven battered men moving under heavy packs, each alone with his thoughts under the bright Florida sun.
Stepping along to the cadence in his head, Captain Jack hummed ‘The British Grenadiers’ under his breath. It felt good to be on the march, a pack on one’s back and a weapon in the crook of his arm. It was good to be back in uniform again, serving Her Majesty, a man of action once more, free of the dreaded PO
W cages. For an instant River Arm’s pastel walls and upbeat art flashed before his eyes, bringing with it a terrible sense of uncertainty, but he forced it down, his humming faltering to a stop. He was an officer of the Queen’s Royal Army and that was that. Yes, he had had a bad turn under interrogation, but such things happen-he hadn’t broken, nor had he told them anything of value.
He was just getting on in years, he explained to himself. He was due a Major’s crowns and a desk job, and a spot of leave to rest up a bit. After this mission, he promised himself. There was only so much they could ask of any man.
JD was walking alongside Marv. “Are you married?”
“Used to be,” the big Ranger shrugged. “Widower, now.”
“Tough to lose her-and at your age.”
“Stuff happens. She was in training for a major rock-climbing expedition, you know, where they climb bare-handed. She fell.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I am, too. We used to argue about it a lot. I thought it was a stupid hobby.” He barked a shaky laugh. “Guess I was right.”
“That’s a hard thing to bear, Marv. How long ago?”
“Five years. She used to point out that a guy who joined the Rangers couldn’t talk about pointless risks. Me, I enlisted for the GI Bill, took Infantry for the bonus, went Airborne for the extra pay. Ranger seemed like just the inevitable next step.”
“So you’re career?”
“Dunno. I re-upped, so they think I am. But after Deb, my wife, it just seems like too much effort to change anything. I live in the barracks, stay to myself, get along. Did four tours in Afghanistan.”
“Good career choice for what we’re in now,” the promoter observed.
“You serve?”
“Yeah, Navy. Gunner’s mate, made E-5. It was OK, I saw the world, had a good time.”
“It is good for that,” Marv nodded, scratching his buzz cut. “I need to get another hat. How did you meet your wife?”
“Hometown girl, started dating her when I got out of the Navy. I wrestled in high school, then later in college, tried to go pro, but there’s way more money in promotions. Like so many other things, it’s the guys behind the scenes who make the real money. It was good for a while, most of it. The last couple years it started getting rough-I think forty hit her harder than most. And things cool off, you know? The kids are old enough to start edging out their parents with their own friends, interests, stuff like that, and that hurt her a bit, probably more than a bit, come to think on it. Who knows? Maybe all that’s bullshit, and I just saw what I wanted to see the whole time.”
“Thing that bothers me,” Marv said thoughtfully. “Is something that came to me during my third tour. Deb had her whole life ahead of her. Me, I wouldn’t have done more than one enlistment, meaning one overseas tour, two at the worst, and out. More likely one. We could have had an entire life together, and instead she loses a handhold on a cliff practicing for a big climb. A hobby killed her. I’m thinking I didn’t really understand her.”
“It’s tough to be sure,” JD agreed. “I thought I knew my wife.”
Checking the terrain, Marv stopped. “Take ten, guys. We ought to be just out of sight of the Interstate.”
“No way,” Dyson shook his head. “No traffic noise. We have to be at least a half mile short.”
“Look, take ten and you and I will ease forward, no packs, and see who’s right,” Marv dumped his pack and sat on a handy log.
“OK.”
The Georgian was really as stealthy as he claimed; Marv had, in the course of hunting men in Afghanistan, become proficient in tactical movement, but Dyson was clearly better.
“See?” Marv pointed to the south, where the bridge was visible. “We were right where I said we were.”
“We should hear vehicles,” Dyson shrugged.
The two eased forward another twenty feet to the edge of the trees; a hundred yards away I-75 stretched north and south under the hot fall sun.
“Shit.” Both men spoke as one.
Chapter Three
“It’s a parking lot from Hell,” Marv explained. “North-bound is pretty empty, but the south-bound lanes are full of abandoned and wrecked vehicles from the south end of the bridge to out of sight. Worst of all, there are dozens of zeds wandering between the vehicles, or keeping to the shade. Looks like the sight of the horde from that Wal Mart truck caused wrecks, which slowed traffic, which let the zeds over-run cars. Apparently over the hours of darkness more cars rolled up on the blockage and were over-run or wrecked trying to get away.”
“So now what?” Bear asked.
“We need a vehicle and supplies of all sorts,” the Ranger shrugged. “We’ll have to supply ourselves from the blockage. Quite a few vehicles are still serviceable and a lot were loaded with stuff. It will mean a risk, but on foot in Florida heat we’re not going to get far, nor fast.”
“We can’t fight a mob of zombies,” Doc objected.
“We won’t,” Marv knelt to draw in the damp earth with a stick. “This is I-75. We stay in the tree line, keeping close enough to eyeball the road. We move up about a quarter mile past the blockage and stash our gear.” He drew an X. “Then we separate. Group One doubles back down the tree line and comes out into the open some distance into the blockage and make lots of noise. They draw most of the zeds to them, keeping a safe distance. While the zeds are responding to Group One, Group Two slips into the ‘parking lot’, as it were, gets a vehicle and whatever gear comes to hand, and hauls ass. Group One breaks contact, circles back, and joins Group One back at the gear. We can do it more than once if we need to.”
“They’re not clever,” Captain Jack nodded, leaning in to study the map. “It was Addison’s fire-bomb that allowed us the break contact initially. Can you build another, old chum?”
Addison gave a single nod.
“OK, Group One is Bear, Addison, Captain Jack,” Marv said. “Group Two is the rest. We’ll choose the vehicle beforehand, and grab what gear seems handy.”
“An RV,” Addison mumbled.
“What?” Marv asked, surprised.
“An RV would be cool,” Doc agreed.
“Too long of a wheelbase, too clumsy,” the Ranger objected. “Zero cross-country capability.”
“Get a good one, they have more power than you think. And we’re not going to conduct combat operations, we’re driving to Texas,” Dyson pointed out. “If we grab a high-dollar model we could cook food while on the move, take showers, have clean clothes, live in air conditioning.”
Marv hesitated. “Anybody know anything about RVs?”
“I’ve owned a couple,” JD said. “I used to use them instead of staying in hotels, travelled all over on business. Dyson’s right, they’re a house on wheels.”
“Not much else will hold seven men comfortably,” Bear pointed out. “We would have to get two vehicles otherwise.”
“OK, we’ll take a look at the selection.”
The Gnomes stayed in the tree line as they moved parallel to the Interstate. “We’re running low on bug spray,” JD reported as they halted to study the vehicles.
“Yeah, climate control is looking good,” Marv admitted. “So is getting the hell out of this mud pit. This point looks good for the diversion group. We’ll vehicle shop at the north end-even if we find a good one here, we’ll never get it back up the road.”
“There we go.” As the Gnomes reached the north end of the blockage JD pointed. “Right there, looks like an Entegra Coach Aspire. If it’s the forty-three footer, that’s two hundred grand worth of comfort.”
“Looks brand-new,” Doc commented.
“No visible damage, tires look inflated, side door is open,” Marv said, half to himself. “The area is clear enough to back out with a little effort-why is it there?”
“One way to find out,” Dyson grinned.
“The RV is nice, but there’s real prize,” Bear pointed to a pick-up with a company logo on the door which was embedded in a hybrid a
bit south of the RV.
“A work truck?” Captain Jack said.
“A roofer’s truck,” Bear corrected. “Looks like all the tools are still in it. You ever seen a roofing hammer?”
“Yeah,” Marv grinned and nodded.
“What is special about a roofing hammer?” Doc asked.
“It’s a hammer with a long hatchet blade instead of the claw on a claw hammer, usually about four to six inches longer that regular hammers, too. Ought to be just right for cracking zombie skulls.”
“The hatchet side isn’t quite sharp,” Marv added. “More like a chisel, they use it to split shingles.”
“Let’s get this done,” Doc suggested, batting at the cloud of mosquitos around his head. “These things will drain me dry once the Cutter’s starts to fade.”
“All right,” Marv and the rest of Group Two knelt by the concrete divider on the south-bound lanes. “We go for the RV. I’ll clear it, JD gets it fired up, Doc and Dyson keep watch. Once we know if the RV is a go or no-go, we hit the roofing truck.” A sudden spatter of gunfire erupted to the north and east. “There’s our cue. Nobody move too fast, the zeds will need time to react to Group One.”
Staying low, Group Two eased up on the northern end of the blockage, every sense straining. To the north the shooting had quickly tapered off to the occasional single shot, but they could hear yelling and the rattle of metal on metal, and once a fiery explosion.
“There’s the RV, facing south. Door to the west; Dyson cover west, Doc east. JD follow me.”
The RV loomed over them as they closed, a tall, gleaming rectangle in white, black, and pale blue with tinted windows that blindly reflected their surroundings. Up close, a scattering of shell casings, three discarded empty speed loaders, blood splatter, a head-shot zombie, and a stainless Colt Python lying on the roadway told part of the story: at least one occupant had dismounted the vehicle and engaged the infected, getting one before being overwhelmed and infected.
Dyson opened the Python’s cylinder and dumped out six empty shell casings. Shrugging, he tucked the weapon into the back of his belt, and gathered up the speed loaders
