by Brian Parker
An older, gruff voice answered back on the radio, “Ghost Six here. Roger, we're black on ammo across the board. Honestly, we're in deeper shit than a convicted child molester in general population. We need you to unfuck us, buddy.”
Colonel Quinones chuckled at his friend's euphemism. That crusty old bastard could always be counted on to come up with something inappropriate. “Okay, Ted. My Engineers will begin flaming in about two minutes. Good luck.”
“Thanks, Jose. We're just waiting for the fireworks. Ghost Six, out.”
Once the flames began, they'd probably lose all communication with the soldiers inside the vehicles as the antennas and soft metal wiring would melt. They wouldn't have any way of knowing if they were killing the men until they could crack open the vehicles and see what was left.
He turned towards the three company commanders who stood around the hood of his Humvee. “Do it,” he ordered. The two men and one woman ran back towards their various company command posts. He'd brought them to his location to ensure that they knew the importance of what they were being asked to do. There were thirty Bradleysand fourteen Abrams tanks out there – more than 200 soldiers. It was up to the Engineers to try and save their lives.
He walked around to the back of his up-armored Humvee and grasped the tire mounted on the back to pull himself up. His old joints protested, but he needed the extra height to see over the piles of bodies pressed against the fence. All along the line, soldiers stopped fighting and watched the Engineers as they clamored forward wearing heat-resistant suits. It was almost like something out of a movie.
Each soldier had ten-gallons of jellied fuel on their backs. A blue flame spit from a propane bottle mounted under the flamethrowers barrel. This was the critical time; the finicky flamethrowers would either work brilliantly or be a huge bust. A soldier with a high-capacity fire extinguisher trailed behind each flamethrower in case there were any flare-ups or problems. The fuel wouldn't explode, but flames could potentially travel back inside the tank and kill the Engineer strapped to it as it burned.
Since flamethrowers weren't really part of the Army inventory anymore, every man and woman that carried one was a volunteer. They'd been instructed to ensure that there was at least twenty feet between each flamethrowerand not to fire until everyone was on line. Quinones was paranoid that someone would start early and accidentally fire into a friendly. Once he saw that everyone was in position he shouted down to his driver who held the radio handset, “Tell them to commence firing!”
“Yes, sir,” the specialist replied and ducked back inside to make the call.
He could hear shouts and orders being yelled over the constant moans of the dead. First one, then another and finally all the flamethrowers began spitting their flames out in a wide arc towards the creatures. The flames flew forward and looked exactly like strings of lava as they fed through the barrel. The average gout of flame reached about a hundred feet and the zombies melted under the barrage.
They stumbled around, their skin on fire as the crack and sizzle of burning flesh filled the air with greasy black smoke. The soldiers swept their liquid death back and forth in front of them to spread the destruction as wide as they could. The creatures’ abdomens burst opened and spilled their intestines along the ground as the skin split from the heat. They continued to move about and tripped on their entrails as they hung from their bodies. The heat destroyed muscle, ligaments and tendons. Finally, the creatures began to collapse, no longer able to propel themselves forward while the flames continued to burn and char their bones.
They died by the thousands.
The jellied fuel dripped from the vehicles' armor as the creatures clinging to the sides and top were incinerated. Flames licked across the vehicles' rubber road wheels and track pads. They caught fire, melting off and adding to the poisonous clouds hanging low overhead.
“Alright, stop it. Let's see what we can do!” the Engineer battalion commander yelled down to his driver who relayed the command.
Infantrymen rushed forward and threw giant A-frame ladders over the fence. The brigade's maintenance shop had hastily welded bars to the opposite side of the ladders, which would provide steps on both sides of the fence for the vehicle crewmen. Helicopter gunships swooped in low to fire into the crowd of zombies that hadn't been destroyed by the flames while the trapped cavalrymen escaped back into the safety of the perimeter.
Trojan Six watched as men rushed across the killing field and used the butts of their rifles to bang out the signal that it was safe to exit the vehicles. He breathed a sigh of relief as men emerged from the steel and tungsten boxes and ran towards the ladders. “Holy shit, it's gonna work!” he shouted, unable to contain his excitement.
Within minutes, every vehicle had been emptied except two. Infantrymen worked to open the hatches and then returned back to the fence without rescued crewmen. Those crews hadn't survived the heat or the fumes and had to be abandoned. “Hurry!” he shouted as a mass of creatures stumbled their way past the smoking bones of other zombies.
One man heard him and turned to look. He made the mistake of bringing his rifle around to fight and was swarmed by the creatures. In the morning's stillness the man's screams mingled with the reports from his rifle until he ran out of ammunition.
The ladders were successfully pulled back inside and a filthy, greasy older man wearing the flame retardant jumpsuit of a combat vehicle crewman stumbled over to Quinones’Humvee. “Hey,you bastard. I see you're standing up there above all the shit that the rest of us have to wallow through,” Ghost Six called.
Jose sat down and then slid off the roof. He gripped Ted's hand and the Ranger pulled him in hard for a hug, pounding him hard on the back. “Thank you, buddy. If it hadn't been for your soldiers, we would have died out there.”
They separated and Jose looked at his old friend. “You look like hell.”
“I need about four fingers of bourbon times two. Where's Greywolf Six?”
Quinones pointed towards the antenna farm two hundred meters to the rear. “He's over there. I'll go over with you, let's go.”
When they arrived at the brigade command post, people were screaming orders and soldiers talked rapidly into radios. It had been busy earlier when Jose had been in here to hatch the rescue scheme with the boss, but nothing like this.
“What's happening?” he asked the brigade operations officer.
“The zombies broke through over on the 3CR side. They just stopped reporting and the CG sent over a few helicopters to investigate. They were overrun. The base's perimeter has been breached!”
“Shit.”
“Goddamn right. Shit is an understatement.”
He turned to see Colonel Graves striding across the tent. “Good job with the rescue, Jose. We're moving into the Comanche II neighborhood in five minutes. I need your men to be prepared to put up triple strand around the entire thing.”
He did some quick calculations. “Sir, we only have enough concertina wire to secure about half that.”
“Do it then. We'll pull the residents into whatever perimeter we can establish. General Masters has ordered all units to move into the housing areas and defend them to the last man. This just got a whole lot worse, gentlemen.”
Ted and Jose looked at each other. They were abandoning the base perimeter and would be making a last-ditch effort to defend the installation's population in the residential neighborhoods. The tactical advantage of their long-range weapons would be negated.
Colonel Graves' voice boomed across the command post, “S-4! Make sure all units have issued their bayonets.”
The Mother, 10:12 a.m.
“I know, isn't it just insane?” Melanie replied.
“Well, my husband is out on that perimeter. I know he'll do everything he can to keep us safe.”
Several of the women regarded her as if she'd just spoken ill about the Lord. “Gladys, all of our husbands are on the fence line. They all belong to the same unit for Pete's sake,” Camilla retort
ed icily.
“That's right,” Melanie agreed. “The Longknife squadron will keep those creatures out and protect their families.”
One of the girls, the young wife of a second lieutenant who was new to the squadron raised her hand and asked, “What if they don't? I think they'll try their hardest, but at some point won't they just run out of bullets or something?”
Gladys stared down her nose at the interloper. “I can't believe that you doubt our boys, Kasey! They'll keep those… those things out and we'll be safe!”
The wife of the squadron's supply officer downed her wine and held it out unsteadily for a refill. “Don't you think you should slow down a little, Gladys? It's only ten a.m.,” Melanie stated.
“Don't tell me – I'm at my house, I'll have a drink if I want to. It helps to calm my nerves.”
“I'd hate to see her sober then,” Kasey said to the girl sitting beside her.
“What was that? What did you just say about me, you little snot?”
Melanie stood up quickly and stepped in front of Kasey. “Okay, I think this wives’ social is over. In hindsight, we probably shouldn't have stuck so rigidly to the schedule. Ladies, it's time to go back to your homes.”
“Hey, come on! I didn't mean for everyone to leave,” Gladys said.
As the ladies of the 4th Squadron, 3rd Cavalry Regiment gathered their things, the bitter woman slumped back on her couch. Melanie herded everyone before her out the door. She turned and regarded the host for a moment, then said, “Goodbye, Gladys. We'll see you in a couple of days.”
“Please, don't go. I don't want to be here alone,” she pleaded.
“I'm sorry, hon. I've got to go and be with my kids. I only had the babysitter for a couple of hours today,” Melanie said as she gently closed the door behind herself.
Like I'd want to stick around with her at that pity party! the squadron commander's wife thought as she walked out to the street where she'd parked her Expedition. Kasey was waiting for her when she got there.
“I'm sorry, Melanie. I didn't mean to get her so upset,” the younger woman said.
“Oh, don't worry about her.” Melanie leaned in and placed a hand on her shoulder. “To tell you the truth, she's been a bitter woman ever since her husband got passed over for promotion last year. The Army is forcing him out in a few months.”
“They are? Oh, that's horrible.”
“Yeah, you say that, but you haven't heard of the ridiculous things that man has done since he got here. He's lucky they didn't do paperwork on him and kick him out months ago. I can only imagine that the same thing happened at his last assignment too.”
She leaned back and took her hand off Kasey's shoulder. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, I'll be fine. The dogs are going crazy with all the gunfire though.”
“Well, that's the price of security,” Melanie said. “We're gonna be okay. Those men and women know what they're doing.”
Kasey nodded her head. “I know. Just something that Mike said before he left yesterday keeps sticking with me.”
“What was that, honey?”
“He said that all the kick-ass weaponry that the Army has was designed for offense. When it comes to defense, they might as well still be using old rifles and sitting helplessly in trenches like they did in the first World War.”
“Don't worry. Those things out there are too stupid to make it past those soldiers. Okay?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Kasey said with a forced smile.
The older woman rubbed her shoulder and said, “Okay, I've gotta make it home to my kids before the babysitter abandons them! I'll see you in a couple of days.”
“Goodbye, Melanie! Be safe!”
“You too, dear. Now get home to your dogs before they tear up that house and Mike gets a giant bill from housing!”
Melanie waved to the girl as she pulled away. She felt bad leaving her standing helplessly on the sidewalk, but she really did have to get home to her kids.
As the squadron commander, her husband had gotten a house along the senior officers' row. There were plenty of lieutenant colonels who lived on the same block as Gladys with the rest of the field grade officers, but commanders were treated special. The Army went through a big board process to decide who would have the privilege of commanding a unit, so they gave them just a little nicer housing and kept them all along the same street.
Although she took part in the festivities, she couldn't help but feel like she stepped back in time to the Sixties when she turned onto her street. Normally children sold lemonade in homemade stands, wives sat on the front porches with friends, even the lawns were kept to a meticulous standard. That's one reason why she insisted that they keep the wives’ coffee schedule today. It was expected that the wives – they did have a few male spouses who typically didn't come to any of the events – would carry on, just like their soldier did.
There was a different feel to the street today though. She checked her truck's thermometer. It was a mild 73 degrees, yet not a single window or door was open as she drove by. Every house had the blinds closed or the shades drawn. It was strange. No kids played in their parents' front yards and nobody walked any pets. Everyone had taken the message to heart that they needed to stay indoors.
She pulled into the driveway and stared up at the United States flag that flew proudly from their front porch. “You've stood tall in darker days,” she muttered as she stepped up onto the composite planks of her front porch. In the far off distance, she could hear the guns firing.
Melanie paused. Something was definitely not right. This morning, the guns had been much closer as her husband's unit had occupied the fields less than a mile from their house. These guns sounded like they were all the way on the other side of post, by the old PX. That meant….
She twisted her key in the lock and rushed inside. “Caleb, Ashley! Are you guys alright?”
“Hi, Mrs. Dunn!” Caitlin, their exuberant teenage babysitter, shouted from the top of the stairs.
Melanie locked the doors behind her. “Are the children okay?”
“Of course. We're just upstairs playing.”
“Caitlin, you need to go home now!”
“What's wrong, Mrs. Dunn?”
“I don't know. The 3CR soldiers have stopped shooting. I don't know what that means. You need to go while you still can. Shit –”
Melanie's hand flew to her mouth and she said, “I'm sorry, Caitlin. Is your mom at home?”
“No, she went to my grandma's house last week,” the girl answered.
“Okay, you're staying here then. Come help me close the blinds.”
Caitlin started to jog down the stairs and Caleb appeared behind her. “Mommy, there's a parade outside!”
Melanie didn’t even think, she just bounded up the stairs and caught Caitlin halfway. “Get back upstairs, now!” she hissed. “Take the children in my closet and stay away from the windows.”
“You're starting to scare me, Mrs. Dunn,” the babysitter told her.
“You better be scared. They've broken through the fence. Get the kids hidden while I try to close the curtains without being seen.”
Caitlin's eyes shot wide. She finally understood what had Melanie so excited. The girl nodded her head and called for Ashley quietly as she scooped up Caleb and took him into the master bedroom closet.
Melanie darted low into Caleb's room and flattened herself against the wall by the window. She knew that if she moved fast, that would attract more attention than if she moved slowly and deliberately, so she craned her neck out and slowly inched towards the window.
Below, her perfect street, a throwback to the Americana of yesteryear, was filled with the undead. They bumped and jostled one another as they moved towards the distant sound of gunfire. The creatures tripped and fell repeatedly over her garden statue of Saint Francis of Assisi, the so-called patron saint of animals. Disgusting blackness oozed from open wounds on their bodies and everything they touched became tainted with it.
She pulled back from the window and crept into her bedroom. “We have to stay here. We cannot – I repeat, cannot go downstairs or near the windows. Do you hear me children?”
“Yes, mommy,” they replied in unison.
“Mommy, where's daddy?” Ashley asked.
“I don't know, honey. I'm gonna send him a text message and see where he is.”
“Oh, he always answers your test message. Then we'll know.”
Melanie leaned in and kissed her on the head. “That's right, sweetie.” She took a ragged breath and said, “Then we'll know.”
She sent close to forty text messages over the course of two hours, but there was no response from her husband. She knew that he was gone. Gone like so many good people, so many families destroyed by this scourge. It's not happening to my kids! she told herself.
She snuck back into Caleb's room. The mass had passed and the street seemed relatively empty. Her Saint Francis statue peered up at her, his face covered in gore and several of the animals at his feet had been broken off. Then an overwhelming urge hit her.
They had to leave. They had to leave now!
She didn't know why, but she knew that she had to obey. They needed to get away as soon as possible. She ran into the bedroom and grabbed Caleb. “Caitlin, take Ashley. We have to leave now!”
“What's wrong? I thought you said that we had to stay hidden.”
“Something just told me that we had to go. Something very bad is going to happen – worse than what's already happened.”
The girl considered her words for a moment and then said, “Come on Ashley, we're going on a car ride!”
“Is daddy coming? Did he answer your test message?” the tiny girl asked.
“Honey, he's gonna try to meet us when we get there, okay?”
Her daughter's face perked up, “Okay!”
“It's important that we stay quiet, okay?”
