The man coming at the team leader started to pick up speed, closing the dozen or so feet between the two of them startlingly fast. Kevin snapped out of his disbelief and double tapped the rushing predator. One bullet hit him in the throat, and as the muzzle of his carbine lifted slightly, the second shot went straight into the nose, blowing the back of the skull clean out, sending brain matter a dozen feet away. The dead man died again, crashing face first at Kevin’s feet.
He bolted for the Suburban as he saw more of the dead surrounding him rise. He keyed his throat mic as he went, “Shoot them in the head, shoot them again, they’re coming back from the dead!” He was screaming. He never screamed. Had the Senator heard him, he would’ve mocked his thick Boston accent.
On all sides as he sprinted to the center Suburban he witnessed the dead coming back to a twisted mockery of life. They were sitting up and immediately ravaging the defenseless wounded all around them on the ground. Kevin snapped off a few hasty headshots and re-killed a few of the freshly risen corpses. He got a few, but even for an expert marksman like Kevin, head shots on the run were next to impossible. Eventually he saw they were hopelessly outnumbered by the violent, risen sea of the dead and he gave up trying to fight. The only safety here was inside the armored SUVs.
Kevin’s team stood in the open doors firing into the mass of undead closing in on them. He couldn’t believe what was happening. This wasn’t real, this wasn’t possible. Dead people are dead. Dead people do not sit up and bite other people. That shit happens in movies. Not in real life. As Kevin’s mind struggled to wrap itself around the reality of the moment he watched as one of the lead car’s team A members was overwhelmed by several of the walking dead. He wasn’t shooting them in the head as Kevin instructed, and he paid the ultimate price. He thumbed his HK416 to full auto as he was pulled to the ground, spraying automatic fire everywhere. One of his errant bullets hit Alan, the senior Brit team leader square in the chest, sending him sprawling into the open SUV door as if he’d been struck by a sledgehammer.
“NOOOOOOooooo!!” Kevin screamed as he saw his buddy go down. Alan looked like he’d been hit by a truck. No blood was visible, and for a moment Kevin thought his vest had stopped the round. For Alan it turned out to be a moot point, because as he was pulling himself to his feet half of the dead turned their attentions to him, and they ripped him apart right there as he tried to get to his feet. He managed to empty his rifle into them, but most of his shots were ineffective. Kevin watched as Alan coughed up a thick gout of blood with his last breath. There would be no call home to England tonight.
Kevin screamed in primal rage and had to restrain himself from getting their bodies. There was no chance he’d survive. The Ranger creed of leave no man behind did not account for the living dead. By the time he got to the bodies there would be twenty of the near un-killable monstrosities on him. They’d have to get their bodies from the Israeli police later.
“Wheels up, we’re out!” Kevin said as he slammed the heavy armored door. Not a second later there were Jewish and Arabic undead smashing their limbs and faces against the tinted windows. Kyle the driver floored the gas pedal and the heavy vehicle lurched forward behind the lead car. They spun in a large circle turning around to head out the back of the construction site. The SUVs jumped up as they ran over the bodies of the living and dead, smashing Kevin’s head into the ceiling
“Head out go right,” Kevin heard Kyle say into his mic, instructing the front driver which way to go to get out. Immediately the lead SUV picked up speed, hitting a few more of the undead, sending them flying. The giant black Suburban in the lead barreled through the closed chain link gate, blasting it violently to the side. Kevin checked the Senator’s body next to him as his vehicle moved into the street.
“Are you wounded? Are you hurt?” Kevin ran his hands all over the old man’s shirt and legs, looking for red wet spots. His hands came back clean as the Senator shook his head in shock. Kevin looked out the windows as Kyle got the truck pointed away from the ceremony site. He looked at the blonde aide Anna, clearly panic stricken in the front seat. She didn’t even realize he was looking at her. She had a random smear of blood on her cheek that stood out starkly. He suddenly realized that she was very pretty, but he didn’t like her much, and he couldn’t figure out why.
Out the rear view mirror Kevin could see the intersection closest to the area the bomb had gone off. Emergency vehicles were parked or parking as far as they eye could see, and just as they turned off, he watched a body in the street begin to sit up.
Maybe that briefing he’d gotten this morning really was going to change the world.
*****
They were a few kilometers away before Kevin felt comfortable enough to start radioing in the situation. Kevin used an advanced communications suite built right into a special center console in the back seat of the Suburban. He started making the calls according to emergency protocol. First step was notifying the Embassy, and getting the other actual diplomats back inside the compound. An attack on one usually led to attacks on the others.
His second call was to the Department of State office of security back in Washington. The call went all the way back to D.C. via a satellite uplink. In a calm voice born from years of being shot at he relayed all the information he’d gotten to a faceless, nameless intelligence officer. He explained the bomb, then the shooting, and finally the worst part, the dead rising. An intelligence officer put him on hold, and after a few seconds a different voice picked up the line.
“This is Director Lancaster, is this Mr. Whitten?” The voice was older, rough. Not a diplomat’s voice at all, it sounded more like a drill instructor’s. From years of habit Kevin was instantly respectful to the man.
“Yessir.”
“You say dead bodies got back up? How sure are you of them being dead? Dead as a doornail dead, or just mostly dead and they got themselves a second wind?” The voice sounded skeptical, but Kevin caught a hint of seriousness. He was instantly afraid of what to say back. Life in the military teaches you to always know enough, but also to never know too much.
Kevin swallowed and replied, “Sir they were dead. I watched a man missing most of his torso get up, lose a lung, bite another man’s chest open, then come at me. I put four rounds into him before he went down for good. Last shot was a head shot.”
Silence. Finally Kevin could hear the other man clucking his tongue, mulling over what he’d said. Finally there was a long, tired sigh. “Son that Senator is a pretty important pencil pusher. You may think he’s as useful as tits on a bull, but there are many who think otherwise. We need him extracted from that region immediately. Head to the airport per your exfil plan. We’ll get the DOS bird ready and you are to head straight to London. Stop for no one. Anyone even fucking looks at that man funny you put two in their face, capiche?”
“Uh yes. Yes sir.” Kevin unscrewed the cap on the Senator’s old water bottle and drained it of the last swallow. The moisture helped.
“You lost men today?” Kevin heard the genuine worry in the tone of the Director’s question.
“Yeah we lost two. One American, one British national. Both good men.” Kevin didn’t like to talk about losses, especially so soon after.
“I’m sure they were the best. I’m sorry for you son. But you gotta take care of that Senator, and take care of the rest of your team. Get that man the fuck out of Israel and get him home,” the Director spoke quietly, filling his words with weight, and importance.
Kevin thought for a few seconds, and then finally asked the burning question, “Sir, what is happening. You didn’t call me a fucking idiot for telling you I saw dead people sit up, and that strikes me a bit queer. What the fuck is going on?”
Silence again. Kevin heard the same clucking noise of the Director’s tongue for a few seconds, and finally he replied in monotone, “Something has gone very wrong with the world Mr. Whitten. We’re seeing credible reports from all over now about dead people doing what you saw ea
rlier. A lot of reports Mr. Whitten.”
Kevin couldn’t believe it. It was probably more military-political bullshit to deny some new terror attack. Pretty soon they’d be invading Belgium or something over this. This was all just another reason to go to war, dredged up by the Washington war machine. “Sir, are you serious?”
“Serious as the rash on my asshole son.” It wasn’t meant to be a joke, and it didn’t come off as funny either. “It started in Africa. We don’t know why yet, or what’s causing it, but it seems to be radiating away from Africa. It’s just starting to show up here in the States now. We’re trying to get it all figured out but…” he trailed off.
“What time is it there sir?” Kevin asked the man as he looked around, surveying the slowly spreading chaos in the city. He could literally see the panic spreading as they drove at breakneck speeds through the tight city streets. Sirens everywhere, people pointing, covering their mouths, clearly scared.
“It’s 0230 here in D.C.” Lancaster replied. Kevin could hear him sipping at a cup of something, probably coffee or tea.
“Shit.” Kevin looked over at his charge, the Senator. He was still shell shocked from the violence earlier. Kevin felt bad for him. This was easily the worst thing that the old man had ever experienced. Kevin knew that without even knowing him. This was really bad. “Thank you sir.”
Lancaster swallowed his mouthful of beverage and replied, “Welcome Son. See you when you get back to the States.” And he hung up. Kevin sat the satellite phone back in its cradle.
The trip to Ben Gurion airport was smooth. Once the convoy got out of the urban area the construction site was in traffic freed up and the world returned to some semblance of normal. Kevin made one more phone call to the Israeli authorities informing them of the situation. They offered police or Army escort but Kevin politely declined. This whole thing was dirty from the jump, and he didn’t want help unless he could stake his life on it being legit. The only real help he was going to get in Israel were the men and women in the three SUVs with him.
His phone call to the authorities did manage to smooth out the security checkpoints for them. They were passed through with minimal harassment. The airport itself was locked down. The Israelis deal with terror regularly, and they’ve gotten very good at reacting to it. The airport was secured by the time they arrived, complete with tanks at the entrances, and they were escorted by airport police to the secured rear of the tarmac where the U.S. government planes were waiting. More American Marines were waiting at the plane, fully loaded for combat. They had their camo gear, full combat kit, and were armed for a real fight. Kevin thought it was strange that they had arrived at the plane and were already geared up. It seemed to him as if they’d gotten advance orders to get here. Maybe there was an extraction plan in place before the bomb went off? Kevin quickly lost the thought at the big black vehicles pulled up the plane.
The three Marines held the perimeter around the Lear jet as Kevin and his men got the Senator and his aides into the plane. Once they were loaded up he gave the all clear to the pilots, and in less than 20 minutes they went from riding in the Suburbans to gaining altitude in the jet over Tel Aviv, watching the Mediterranean Sea open up before them. It had only been maybe five hours since their meeting around the big mahogany table.
The men collapsed with fatigue. The drain left behind after the adrenaline fades is overwhelming. Kevin had blacked out from the exhaustion more than once himself, and he completely understood the men who did just that. The older guys, the ones who had been through it like Kevin sat close to one another, exchanging memories, and figuring out how they were going to make sure Alan’s kid was taken care of. Kevin felt one huge pang of sadness when he thought of his friend’s young daughter. She was only 6, and she would take the loss of her father hard. Try as hard as he might, he couldn’t think of her name. He vowed to try and see them in person as soon as he could.
Kevin wandered the length of the plane once the turbulence subsided and they reached their astronomically high cruising altitude. The thrum of the powerful jet engines drowning out the snoring of the few men who had passed out. Kevin made his way back to the grateful Senator, who promptly thanked him and his men profusely. Kevin passed it all off as just another day at the job, but deep down inside he wondered what the hell was so important about this man. Kevin didn’t know.
After he checked in with all his conscious team members he set himself down next to his two youngest men, Nate and Corey. He addressed them once they were done downing the bottles of water they got on the plane, “You men did an amazing job earlier.”
They both replied with a “thank you sir,” in near unison. They were a little roughed up emotionally, and they were spattered with blood from the close quarter gun battle.
“You guys okay, did anyone get hurt?” Kevin downed another bottle of the water in one fluid tip. He didn’t even realize how thirsty he was.
Nate responded with a quiet chuckle, “Other than pissing myself a little, I’m good to go sir.” Kevin liked him. Good sense of humor when things needed it.
Corey laughed at his Marine friend and rolled up his sleeves. Kevin saw a nasty semi-circular scratch on his forearm, “you get cut Corey?”
“Nah. One of the motherfuckers bit me.”
Kevin dismissed the minor injury with a hmph, and leaned his head back into the plush first class style seats in the small Lear jet. It was only a few hours to London, then hopefully home. He quickly drifted off into the post adrenaline darkness of deep sleep.
December 13th
I have been sitting here for the better part of an hour trying to decide if I want to talk about Cassie. I have thought about twenty things I would rather talk about because that’s easier. Talking about Cassie dredges up memories that cause me a lot of emotional pain, and I am having enough trouble dealing with my physical pain already. What’s left of my sanity already feels paper thin, and I am scared that talking about her will make things worse. I don’t know if I can deal with worse right now.
Quitters say that stuff. People who are afraid of facing the truth say that kind of nonsense. I loved her, right? Why should I mourn her so powerfully when so much of my memory of her is so pleasant? I should celebrate my relationship with her instead of mourn my one bad decision about her.
Typing that helped. It’s amazing the power of writing your feelings. Okay Mr. Journal, here we go. Might need to take a few breaks to get some tissues. Brace yourself.
I met Cassie when I was working at a strip club right after my discharge. Not stripping at the club, I was working security there. It was a fairly reputable establishment in the city. She was working as a bartender there and the moment I saw her I knew I had to try and get her number. I mean it was that simple. Saw her, knew it. She and I worked off nights for weeks before her schedule changed a bit and she started working Friday nights, which was the one night of the week I worked. As I’ve said before, my skills with women were questionable at best so I had to work myself up the whole night to say something to her. It’s funny that I have no problem at all wandering downtown into a horde of undead to face potential death, but the thought of saying something to a girl puts jelly in my knees.
Cassie was pretty, very pretty. I wouldn’t have said she was hot, but she had this innocent charm that suckered people in. She came off as the girl next door, the farmer’s daughter, the babysitter, you name the cliché. She had auburn hair leaning towards red. More red than brown really, and I have always been a sucker for redheads. She had green eyes. Pretty ones that changed color when she got mad. Maybe they were more hazel really? I don’t know, I’m sticking with green as the color. I like green.
Cassie was dressed a little slutty that night, as all the girls who worked at the club had to. The service staff wore all black every night. The waitresses wore black skirts, and the bar staff wore black slacks with tight black tank tops. She had her hair in a ponytail too, which for some reason I am a complete sucker for as well. It was almos
t like she was trying to get my attention. She was hitting me on all cylinders that night. Every night really.
It was a really busy night that night. I can distinctly recall having something like ten ejections of drunks, or assholes that thought there really was sex in the champagne room. There are plenty of clubs where you can get something in the private rooms, but this was not one of them. I was walking a dude out the door all wrapped up after grabbing one of the girl’s asses and I happened to look sideways at the bar and caught Cassie watching me. I gave her one of my patented rolls of the eyes and she gave me an overly enthusiastic thumbs up in mock celebration. I decided right then I’d get her number before we left. Had to.
I didn’t. Fail. Right as the club was closing we had a fight break out and her shift ended. I was pinning some prick against the wall waiting for the police to show when she punched out and left for the night. You want to talk about frustrated masturbation? To borrow a phrase, I beat my dick like it owed me money that night.
The next week she worked on Friday and right off the bat I walked up the bar and said hi. I’ll never forget it, the first thing she said to me. I said, “hi.”
Her response with a smile was, “I don’t date ogres.”
Fortunately I have a sense of humor, and I laughed. I don’t think she expected that. My reply to her was, “I was told you had sex with them though….” My sense of humor is my in with girls. I might be awkward, but I’m fucking funny.
We hit it off immediately. She was a wiseass just like me. She was a senior in college, and was finishing school in a few months. She was going to school for finance, and interning during the late afternoons a few days a week. The bartending job was paying most of her tuition and she hated it. I gave her my number, told her I was independently wealthy, had a huge dick, could last in bed for days, and had a problem with lying.
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