by Mark Tufo
“I already cleared this with Tracy.” BT produced a bottle of vodka that could have been more aptly called a keg. For possibly one of the few times in my life, I didn’t want a drink. I wanted to lay down on a bed and tightly wrap my arms around my wife. But this was BT we were talking about, and anything short of a bazooka was not going to keep him from his goal. Ended up being a party of sorts, a celebration of life and a remembrance of those lost. Nearly everyone I cared for was in attendance, except for the smallest of kids.
He grabbed me and led me into an enormous green building where Kirby was manning two sets of grills. I was hesitant to ask what the meat was and where it had been procured, especially since it smelled so damn good.
“Of all the friggen’ nights to have guard duty. Welcome back, sir,” Corporal Baggelli said as he was headed past. He stopped abruptly. “Sir, my mother is here; I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ogle her.”
“Yeah, like I’m going to make that promise,” I told him.
“Fucking officers,” he muttered as he left. “Might just let something sneak in past me.”
“I can hear you, Baggelli.”
“I know,” he said before leaving.
“Baggelli.” He stopped, I’m sure waiting for some sort of redress. “Be careful out there. That new zombie hybrid is unlike anything we’ve encountered so far.”
He looked somewhat stunned. “Thank you, sir.”
“Why are we here?” I asked. “Here” referred to the giant metal structure that was used to repair boats. It was a dockyard, but not a naval one.
“We just got here last night,” BT said. “Bennington wanted us to land far from here in case Deneaux found a way to track the plane.”
“Smart move, but that’s twenty-four hours. What aren’t you telling me?”
“We’re having this barbecue here because the boat isn’t secure.”
“First off, this isn’t for me?”
“Sure it is.”
“And I’d hardly call an aircraft carrier a ‘boat.’ I mean, I would to a sailor—that shit drives them crazy.”
“There were six thousand people on that ship.”
“Wait, didn’t Bennington do recon?” I asked.
“Twice. Neither team came back.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I took two quick shots of vodka. “There’s not another carrier we can grab?”
“Just how many of those behemoths do you think there are? And even if there was another one close, it’s a good bet it’d be in the same condition.”
“Fuck.” I swept my hand over my head and did another shot.
“I’d like to talk to you before you mosey too far down the path to oblivion.”
“Better talk fast then.” I grimaced as I did another shot. I was beginning to get a warm glow, and that’s what I wanted, even though I knew tomorrow was going to be a foggy mess of a headache along with a roiling stomach.
BT was gathering his thoughts. “We know that there were survivors and that a battle was fought on the decks. There was communication from the crew, and one of the recon teams was able to confirm this before they went dark.”
“What was the recon team comprised of and how many?”
“Does that matter?”
“Yeah, it matters. If it was a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses and they were wiped out, that makes sense.”
“Yeah, Mike, Bennington wanted to send two missionaries armed with Watchtowers to see if the crew had found the lord and savior, Jesus Christ. Instead, all he had first was a group of ten Force Recon Marines, after that were seven SEALs.”
“Fuck.” I did another shot. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Tomorrow, we’re part of a platoon making a beachhead.”
“I should have stayed out one more day.” I facepalmed. “Did I say that out loud?”
BT smirked. “I’m glad you’re here. Overland is leading the group, but I would think he’ll give you autonomy.”
“Yeah, that always works out.” I got a sour taste in my mouth and it wasn’t even my stomach protesting the alcoholic intrusion.
“Mike, you can’t save everyone; you can’t protect everyone.”
I felt desperate, and I think that translated over to the look I gave him. “BT, I have to.”
“You told me what happened. Trip gave his life for yours. The guy was crazy as hell but he did that for you on purpose. Either you were gone or he was.”
“I don’t want to be part of that equation, BT. Surviving when so many others have fallen.”
BT took a couple of shots to match pace. “I’m going to need something to mix this with. I think kerosene would be smoother.”
“Anybody that sells their vodka in a drum is just trying to get rid of a bad batch,” I told him.
“True.” He took another swig.
“Mike, I don’t have any words that are going to ease your pain or the pain any of us are feeling. Just know I’m happy you’re here.”
“You say that now, but wait until I wake you up at some ungodly hour to give you some inane insight.”
“I’ll deal with it when it comes.”
“I have to know something,” I said in all seriousness.
“I’m listening.”
“Wassau and Dylan?”
“They’re around, surprised they didn’t come to meet you.”
“What about Sorrens?”
“Yeah, he’s here somewhere.”
“What about his entourage?”
“The dolls? You’re asking about the dolls?”
“I am.”
“When you come across his sulking self, you’ll know the answer to that.” BT smiled. I tried to follow suit. Whatever muscle pulled up the corners of my lips was not strong enough to reach my eyes, and BT noticed.
I changed the subject. “So, we have no idea what we’re heading into?”
“Not really. The only thing we feel with a high degree of confidence is that these will be first-generation zombies.”
“Shufflers? Well, that’ll be a nice change. How many military personnel do we have?”
“Just under five hundred.”
“Civilians?”
He was reluctant to answer that. “About three hundred.”
“What the fuck?” I was thinking of the thousands still on the base.
“Bennington did the best he could with the cards he had dealt,” BT said as way of appeasement.
I didn’t think that, but it was hard to argue with a corpse, especially a corpse that had also sacrificed himself for me and mine. Seemed to be a lot of that going around.
“I saw you made a new friend.”
“Yeah, Dallas…she’s a good kid. I’d like you to take her under your wing; she needs more training. Charlie’s group dealt almost primarily with shufflers, so she’s not quite up to speed.”
“I will, and I was talking about the pig.”
“Rasher? I killed his mother. I figured he was now mine to care for.”
“To eat?” he asked, referring to the sow.
“To keep from getting gored.”
“Damn.”
“You’re telling me.”
The night devolved into drunken debauchery. I awoke the next day, naked, thankfully next to Tracy and not Rasher. That would have entailed a serious amount of explaining. I felt surprisingly good, considering. Stenzel screwed that up for me.
“Thought you were going to go easy on the festivities?” she asked as she came to check on me. She was geared up and ready.
“Did I say that and how…?”
“How long have I been up? Couple of hours.”
“No, how are you standing there all sunshiney? Last I saw, you were doing some horrible karaoke.”
“I’ll have you note I sing like an angel, and not all of us are punching above our weights, sir.”
“Is that your way of telling me I’m a lightweight?”
“Those words never came out of my mouth, sir. Merely saying that I have been up and
prepping for a while now while you were snoring away.”
“Where’s BT? He’s still got to be asleep.”
“He’s the one that got me up.”
“Son of a bitch.” I almost stood until I remembered my status. “I’m going to need a minute.”
“The transport leaves in fifteen.”
“Fuck, Stenzel! And you’re just getting me now?”
“Under control, sir. Everything is good to go—we’re a well-oiled machine. Figured you, as an old-timer, needed the rest.” Before she could head out, I had one parting shot.
“Stenzel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you sing like an angel, it’s no wonder that they mostly stick to playing the harp.”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled.
I kissed my wife and dressed quickly.
“Be careful out there, Talbot,” Tracy said as I got ready to head out of the office we were using as an impromptu bedroom.
I was about to make a quip about how I always was; instead I told her I would. Tough to be funny when your hands are trembling. I held them up in front of my face; the shake was perceptible. I stuffed them in my pockets before my wife could roll over and see. “Keep the group close and indoors. The reavers are still out there, and there’s a chance they tracked us.”
“I will.”
I had to shield my eyes from the light; it was beaming directly into my burgeoning headache.
“Captain, nice of you to join us,” Major Overland said as he looked at his watch.
“Pretty sure the zombies aren’t going anywhere, sir,” I told him.
“Good to have you back.” He shook my hand.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Come with me to the command tent.”
“There’s a command tent?” I asked as I followed him.
“Major Eastman did a flyover today, got some pictures I’d like for you to see.”
The first couple were of the deck, nothing too unusual. If there had been a battle waged there, the elements had destroyed any evidence of it.
“Looks like a lot of planes,” I told him. What else could I say, so, of course, I added more. “I see a good place for the volleyball court, not too close to the edge.”
“You smell like a still. Here. This picture is five minutes later, and this five minutes after that.”
The first of the photos showed zombies coming out from various exits. The second showed more than a few hundred of them standing there, staring at the picture taker.
“Shit…those are very definitely not shufflers,” I said, holding the picture in front of my face.
“Why do you say that?”
“They’re too interested in what’s happening. If he got closer, we’d be able to see them track his movements. And the hatches…never been on a carrier before but I’m going to go out on a limb and say they don’t swing like saloon doors. These would need to be manually manipulated. That means they have dexterity and the know-how to use it.”
“Mirroring my thoughts exactly.”
“How could this be happening? The military was among the first and hardest hit. That carrier should have been one of the first assets to fall.” I could not stop looking at the pictures.
“You’re right about the ship. Contact was lost on December 8th, the day after the reports started coming in. A couple of the scientists here came up with a theory.”
“A theory? From pictures taken what, an hour ago? How long have you known about this?”
“Was hoping the alcohol would have clouded your mind more.”
“Don’t worry, sir, I’m a Marine; I’m not known for overthinking things.”
“Bennington has had eyes on this ship almost from the first days of Etna.”
“Wily bastard had a contingency plan, even then.”
“Unwise to not have something in place. He would occasionally have a plane fly over to keep tabs on it, and then Deneaux brought him a present, in the form of a real-time satellite.”
“With all the intel, do we have an enemy count?”
“Unsure. We think they are greatly under-displaying their numbers.”
“Under displaying? Looks like about three hundred; why not show ten?”
“Think about it for a second, Captain.”
I did, and I did not at all like how the answer obtrusively burrowed its way into my skull. “They show ten, we send an appropriate number to deal with it; they show three hundred, we send in a much larger contingent. They show too many, we don’t come at all.”
“Bingo, get that man a prize. Our best guess is there are a thousand zombies on that ship. The brief radio transmissions sent before they went dark described huge battles being waged. The sailors did an admirable job trying to defend her.”
“So, somehow, you think sending a platoon on board is a good idea? After two failed missions?”
“I’d send less if I could. This isn’t about a direct fight; we’re supporting demo personnel. The idea is for them to set up explosives, doing maximum damage to the enemy while doing minimum damage to the structure.”
“You tell Rose your mission parameters? My resident demo expert has problems with restraint.”
“She’s well aware. I briefed them all thoroughly; no sense in risking any lives if we destroy the very thing we’re trying to save.”
“Is it worth it?” I asked, finally putting the damn picture down.
“You tell me. I was there for the briefing you gave about the reavers; it’s only going to get worse out here. Who knows what they’ll come up with next? The USS Jimmy Carter can keep us far from land for the next fifteen years if need be.”
I was going to ask him, then what? What good would it be if we came ashore all those years later and the earth was no longer even recognizable or, more importantly, habitable, thanks to the wreckage caused by the ever-changing zombies. But that wasn’t the point. The point was keeping these people here alive, to find other groups, to start over. Otherwise our entire existence quickly became meaningless, and you couldn’t exactly start over if you weren’t in the game.
“I’ve got a question.” I turned to look at the ship a mile or so out to sea.
“Now would be the time to ask.”
“We know there’s hundreds, perhaps a thousand or more zombies out there and yet we’re only sending a platoon. I’ve been on enough missions to know when I’m considered expendable, an acceptable loss.” I was now looking at him to gauge his response. “Seems that the appropriate response would be to hit them with everything we have. Not have the majority of the force on land watching from ashore.”
“You’re partly right. We want to deliver them some losses, but, more importantly, this is a fact-finding mission as well.”
“I hardly call risking the lives of my personnel a fact-finding mission.” I smelled something off here, but I blamed the booze that I couldn’t sniff it out.
“And yet it is something that needs to be done. A small, nimble group will be less noticeable than a large strike force.”
I steadily eyed him. “You’re good. You’re no Deneaux, but then, who is?” I decided to bait a trap and see if he stepped into my snare.
“Could you get to your point, Captain?”
“You’re not telling me something. If I don’t know what you know, I will not order my people out there. And don’t go straight for the pissing contest thing; I know you’re a major and believe you can order me, but I’m telling you right now, I won’t send my people without all the facts. End of story.”
“Talbot, I like you, but I like those under my command who listen and obey even more.” He sighed.
“I’m going to get some food. Let me know when you’re ready.”
“Stop. I didn’t want to say anything because of how much danger we’re already in. We have reason to believe that we’re being watched.”
“Deneaux?” It was my first guess and a reasonable assumption at that.
“In this case, that would be preferable.”
“Major, I’d appreciate you not delaying the answer. The longer you take, the wilder my thoughts become. I’m already at a pack of rabid albino yetis.”
“What? Forget it. Zombies, Captain. We think they’re watching us.”
My eyes narrowed. “That’s half of half the answer. Ever hear the law of diminishing returns?”
“The zombies on the ship.”
“What? How?”
“Bennington’s first two teams both said they came across a zombie sailor on the shore by their staging area and when they got to the ship, before we lost them, they felt they’d walked into a trap.”
“I know zombies can talk to each other but not over that kind of distance. That doesn’t make any sense. And have any of our patrols stumbled across a ‘zombie sailor?’ A ‘pop-eye,’ perhaps?”
The major looked at me strangely. “Every day for the entire week we’ve had people here.”
“Every day? What are they doing, having tea with it? Share some rum, maybe?”
“They kill it, Captain, but it’s replaced.”
“Zero fucking sense. One or two could be a coincidence, a few zombies that fell over the edge during the battle or wandered off deck in the middle of the night, that kind of thing. But seven days straight? If they are somehow communicating and they know we’re here, why wouldn’t they attack as a group? Something about this stinks. We’ve never really tested the comms range of a zombie, but Dewey was giving battle plans to his troops outside the walls of Etna; the closest relay point had to be over five hundred yards.” I was walking in loose circles, thinking. “That means there’s more zombies out there, in the water.” I knew definitively the truth of my words. “Every few hundred yards, relaying intel. One gets taken out of the sequence, they just pluck and chuck, like we do with faulty equipment.”
“That’s a big leap in logic, Captain. And it doesn’t at all explain away what’s happening. If that’s the case, why they don’t all come and attack?”
“Maybe they like it there? Maybe they were previously real live sailors and they consider it their home. Who fucking knows? Maybe they think they’re still defending it or something. I could be wrong, my wife would tell you I’m almost always wrong, but there’s an easy enough way to check.”
Overland understood immediately. “I’ll get a patrol out on a boat.”
