by Howard, Bob
They had just finished placing their charges when the two squads began to open fire. Sizable groups of infected gathered on both sides of the bridge, and the soldiers concentrated their fire on the closest of them. They were surprised and not at all disappointed when the radio call came out to both squads to withdraw to the waiting helicopter and be prepared for immediate liftoff. As they boarded the craft they were told they had new orders to rendezvous with the VH92A that was sent to the Mark Clark Expressway. They didn’t know what was expected of them yet, but they were told to come in hot.
The squad Sergeant asked for clarification and was simply told they would know what to do. When he was told not to waste time blowing up the bridge, that they could come back later to finish the job, he had a better idea of what it meant to go in hot.
The flight was only four minutes from liftoff when they could see the scene at I-526. The other VH92A was in the grass in the middle of the interchange. Concrete lanes snaked away in all directions, but they didn’t block the incredible view up I-26 toward Aviation Avenue. The pilot hovered for just a moment as the copilot snapped pictures on a digital camera, but they hurried to get on the ground. For some reason that they couldn’t yet understand, the squads from the helicopter on the ground had deployed in a straight line and were walking toward the solid wall of infected dead. As they walked, they were carefully selecting targets and firing. Twenty men and women were laying down a withering assault at targets that didn’t try to dodge the bullets, so they were making an impressive dent in the wall.
As they landed the doors flew open before they were on the ground, and they were unloading to support the other squads. They were surprised to be delayed at all, but they stopped when they were met by the pilot of the idling helicopter. It was Lt. Harrelson, and she shouted above the sound of the rotors to identify three friendlies who were between them and the horde.
“Did she say friendlies?” yelled one of the Sergeants.
The other squad leader held up three fingers, and they passed the word to their squads as they ran to join the others. When they arrived at the shoulders of the first two squads, they scanned the swaying bodies of the infected dead in the distance, and they were amazed to see three men running as hard as they could. The men were making a final sprint after having run a marathon to stay ahead of the horde, and it was fair to say they were running out of gas.
******
After the overpass had collapsed under their feet, they had zigzagged through the stumbling infected dead that had no idea there were three warmed blooded, living people in their midst. The men sprinted when they were in the clear and stopped to catch their breath only when they were far enough ahead, but they could never run far enough or fast enough to get away from the sound of the horde. They had given up on running with their rifles after the first ten miles. All they were was extra weight, and it was becoming clear that they would never outdistance the infected. It took them hours to realize that the reason they couldn’t gain any ground was simple. They weren’t being chased by the same infected anymore. As they ran, the dead emerged from the trees, the side roads, and the exits, constantly keeping the distance between the men and the front of the horde where it had been the entire time.
When they stopped to rest, one of them told the other two if they stopped for too long, they wouldn’t have to worry about the horde catching up with them. They would have to worry about the infected in front of them. They dropped all of their gear except what was left of their water, and they ran again, trying to keep a steady pace. Several times they saw infected ahead of them. When they did, they ran as quietly as possible and got as close to the opposite side of the interstate as they could. It was almost a fatal choice twice when they ran straight toward the places where new infected dead were coming out of the woods onto the interstate. Also, running across the median instead of straight ahead was the same thing as adding distance to their marathon run.
It seemed like they had been running forever when they reached the crest of the interstate just past Remount Road. They knew that over the crest ahead was the big interchange with I-526, and even though they still had to run a long way to reach the Don Holt Bridge, they were in friendly territory and had a good chance of running into one of their patrols. When they saw the helicopter idling in the grass, their first reaction was that they were saved. Then they weren’t so sure. They saw soldiers spreading out on either side of the aircraft, and they had their weapons aimed in their direction. It wasn’t until they opened fire and the bullets hit the wall of infected behind them that the three men were sure they weren’t the targets.
CHAPTER FIVE
USAMRIID
1969
Capitol Hill was a place where deals were made. Those who couldn’t get rich got elected to Congress, and those who were rich courted politicians for the passage of pet bills that would make them richer. It was no secret to anyone, and the key to getting what you wanted from your investment was finding someone who needed campaign funds and had a senior position on one of the powerful committees. The problem was that there were so many powerful committees. If you couldn’t line the pockets of someone on more than one committee, you might not get the return for your investment you expected.
Then there was the Cold War to deal with. There was so much paranoia in the population that people were passing up on the swimming pool for the kids in order to build fallout shelters for the whole family. If the bombs fell and radiation carpeted the suburbs, the way to keep up with the Joneses was to have a shelter big enough for the grandparents.
Politicians had families too. It was no small wonder that they worked together to devise a plan for shelters that would protect them from the hardships of survival after a nuclear war. No single goal was more effective at bringing them together across party lines, and it wasn’t long before the President learned about it.
He had always expected to be kept safe if someone pressed the buttons that would bring the human race close to extinction, but when he found out the extent to which the government was willing to go, he was quick to sign off on bills that made certain committees even more powerful than before. The more power they had, the easier it was to hide the purchases made by donors who wanted in on that life insurance policy being sold by the government. That special policy that included being safely tucked away during and after a nuclear war.
It started out that way, and it was supposed to be a secret, but for every person that knew a secret in Washington DC, there was someone who’s job was to expose secrets, and along the way to have some secrets of their own. The intelligence community in the nation’s capitol was the best in the world at learning the secrets of other countries, but they never forgot the value of the secrets being kept in their own back yard. They learned about the shelter program right from the start, and the jealousy behind closed doors was the source of an invisible wall that went up between Congress and the CIA. To complicate matters even more, as administrations came and went, members of the intelligence communities became politicians so they could keep their secrets and insurance policies. If politicians and their rich friends could be protected in shelters, the intelligence community expected the same benefits.
The government came out of the Cold War with secrets but no obvious need for shelters that would protect them from a nuclear apocalypse. There were rumors that the politicians were still building shelters and selling seats, but the intelligence community wasn’t interested in outsourcing the shelters to survivalists. Instead, they channeled their funds into the development of a plan to support their own efforts if there ever was an apocalypse, no matter what type apocalypse it was.
One of their most ambitious plans was to join forces with the people who would be on the front lines in a different kind of war. Every threat assessment pointed straight to biological warfare, and the only way to survive a biological apocalypse would be with the help of the Centers for Disease Control and the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Disease
s, better known as USAMRIID.
Present Day
Six Years After the Decline
The Chief showed his wealth of knowledge as we watched the blue and white single engine plane descend toward Patriots Point. The pilot approached his runway not much higher than the trees, and we wouldn’t have spotted it if we hadn’t already been watching Patriots Point. We also couldn’t hear him above the storm that was rolling in from the Atlantic. It wasn’t going to be a big one, but the dark sky and the wind hid the plane’s approach well.
“It’s a Quest Kodiak,” said the Chief. He remembered everything anyone ever told him, and I didn’t doubt Bus had told him about that particular plane. Both of them were pilots, but Bus was a walking encyclopedia on single engine planes.
He had his elbows resting on the brick wall of the old ramparts to keep steady. I was only two feet away on the other side of him.
“Perfect plane for short take off and landing. For a moment I thought it was a Cessna 208 Grand Caravan.”
I was propped so much like the Chief that I could have been his shadow. Both of us were so intent on the plane that we had forgotten Tom was there.
“Good thing it wasn’t. Those can be modified to shoot Hellfire missiles,” said the Chief.
“Quest made that thing convertible into a float plane. Do they have a boathouse over there that can lift it for refit then lower it into the water?” I asked.
The Chief raised an eyebrow in my direction. I could tell he was impressed that I had been doing some homework.
“I imagine so. They covered the facilities at the marina before we got a good picture of that part of the complex.”
The plane disappeared into an area we knew was part of the golf course, and we stood up from the wall where we had been leaning. It was funny to see us the same height when we were using the binoculars and then so different when we stood up. The Chief towered over me, but then again, he towered over all of us except Tom.
“It’s been over four months since we sent Randal over there,” Tom said.
It was more of an observation than anything. I was thinking about how Randal had accepted the job as if it was no big deal. We didn’t know if we were sending him to his death or if the people would see it as a golden opportunity for some useful information about us, but it was likely to be both.
The Chief had the faintest frown lines appear on his forehead when he thought about Randal. When I had asked him once if he was going to do the same thing to Randal that he had done to Stokes, he had gotten the same frown. I didn’t press him for an answer, but Kathy told me later the Chief thought it would be fitting to take Randal to the cemetery and bury him. We all knew what the Chief had done to Stokes, but that was the end result of a fair fight, and the Chief had been angry. When he was calm he wasn’t likely to actually bury someone alive, although I wasn’t quite so sure about Randal because he had been the one who helped Stokes bury Molly and Sam. Stokes buried Iris on his own, and that debt was settled.
The Chief let out a deep breath and said, “I don’t think things worked out so well for Randal over there. That’s why we didn’t send someone over there who we would have worried about. If they had set fire to him and shoved his boat back into the harbor we wouldn’t have tried to put out the fire. At least we know we can’t send someone else.”
I was about to say more, but I caught the signal Tom gave me to drop it. If the Chief had something bothering him, Tom was likely to pick up on it and let the rest of us know. The Chief told his most intimate thoughts to Iris, but he talked with Tom about things that were eating at him. Tom had warned us that the Chief was worried about the arrival of the horde. He wasn’t worried that the horde could reach Fort Sumter. He was worried about what the people at Patriots Point were going to do if the horde overran them.
Despite Tom’s silent warning for me to drop the subject of sending someone else over to Patriots Point, there was one more thing that needed to be discussed. I saw Tom cringe, but I asked the Chief anyway.
“Any concerns about that couple who managed to survive on Mt. Pleasant without getting killed by the infected or captured by the people at Patriots Point?”
The Chief wasn’t always easy to read, especially if he was about to pull a practical joke on someone. I was one of his favorite targets because I was a lousy poker player, but this time he didn’t scowl or smile. He really did have some concerns.
“It’s worth keeping an eye on them. I’m not saying at this time, but I find it hard to believe anyone survived on Mt. Pleasant without help. For the time being I’m going to focus on the horde, but keep an eye on them. If they’re spies we should treat them well and see if we can turn them.”
“You mean we find a way to let them go back to Patriots Point as spies for us?” asked Tom.
“Something like that,” answered the Chief, “but think about it for a second. What would they report back that Patriots Point doesn’t already know? It would be like a Russian spy reporting back to the KGB that America was powerful. As a matter of fact, that’s what we want them to know.”
I could tell the Chief had been giving it some thought, so I didn’t push him with more questions about it. We quietly went back to our own thoughts.
The Ravenel Bridge had been barricaded so well that there was no way the horde would get through by crossing the bridge from Charleston. His experience with the current in the harbor made him believe the horde wouldn’t be able to flood the harbor with so many of the infected that they would make it to the Mt. Pleasant side in the water. Whatever it was that was eating at the Chief, it wasn’t something he could explain, but there was something that made him think the infected dead would force the people at Patriots Point out of their fortified corner of land, and they would come to Fort Sumter, the one place the horde couldn’t go. It was more of my own thinking that I had borrowed from my uncle. Patriots Point was an oyster waiting for the right chain of events that would lead to it being opened, but my thinking didn’t include one oyster attacking another.
We climbed down from the wall and worked our way across Fort Sumter to the side facing the tidal plain between us and Morris Island. It was high tide, and the moon was nearly full, so the mudflats were completely under water. It was only a couple of feet deep, but if the horde managed to get onto James Island behind Fort Sumter, there would be a lot of infected stuck in the mud. The timing of the full moon was working in our favor.
“Why are you so worried, Chief? We’ve got the best place to be, and even if the people at Patriots Point decide to attack, all we have to do is shut the doors. Captain Miller even had his people reinforce the emergency entrances. As of today after we go back inside, the only way into or out of the shelter will be the back door over on Morris Island, and you know what it would take to open that door.”
“I don’t know. I guess it’s just an old habit of mine to worry about everything.”
As if the Chief needed evidence to make his point, we heard the high pitched turboprop of the Quest Kodiak as it sped toward us. This time it flew over the fort only a few feet above the walls. The only reaction we could have was to hit the deck. The guards had been instructed not to fire upon the planes from Patriots Point unless the planes shot first, but this was the closest they had ever come.
The plane was by us so fast that the Chief and I were scrambling to get our binoculars trained on it.
I said, “No markings at all. Not even a number.”
“That was a message,” said the Chief, “but I have no idea what they were saying.”
We all knew it had something to do with the horde, but we would need more direct actions to know what they were trying to tell us.
I couldn’t help making a guess, though.
“I think they know where our helicopters are right now, and they haven’t seen the Cormorant in months so they took a chance to get a closer look.”
“I think you’re right,” the Chief said without lowering his binoculars, “and he just changed course
toward Folly Beach. That means he’s spotted where we parked the Sikorsky when it got back from opening drawbridges.”
When we decided to seal the hidden entrances to the shelter, it meant we would have to use the back door to reach the helicopters. It was fairly safe from the infected because the water between Folly Beach and Morris Island was deep, and the current was too strong for most swimmers. Not to mention the sharks and crabs that sat around waiting for their next big meal. A few well placed guard posts were spread around the island, and aside from the sand fleas, it was a good plan. It wasn’t something I would say in the presence of the soldiers who had to stand guard there because sand fleas were just plain mean.
We watched the Kodiak veer south and dip lower, so it was obvious that the pilot figured out that we had established a new landing area near the lighthouse at the tip of Morris Island. It had been inevitable that the move would be discovered, but we had hoped it wouldn’t be before the horde arrived. Now that they knew, it was a possibility that they would attack that landing area if the infected breached their defenses.
