by Brian Parker
The sights, sounds, and smells of burning all those people alive would haunt Jake for the rest of his life.
2
* * *
SURVIVOR CAMP #3, EL PASO, TEXAS
SEPTEMBER 14TH
After breakfast, Sidney wandered toward the perimeter of her camp and stood, staring at the main post area with its nice housing and all the buildings. She was sick of tent city and needed to go to the big Post Exchange building where they had clothing and food, according to the camp rumor mill. Even Lincoln’s pants were getting dangerously tight around her midsection.
The refugees were kept in an area heavily patrolled by armed military, under guard “for their own safety.” She was sure that the leaders of the base had the same misgivings about the people in the camps that she did, but the overwhelming majority of the people were good, law-abiding citizens who were just trying to keep their families alive. The military treated everyone like they were one second away from turning into a mass-murdering asshole.
This place felt more like a prison than a safe zone.
She glanced at the sign warning all refugees to stay in the camp and not to go into the cantonment area, whatever the hell that word meant. “Dammit, I’ve followed the rules for months,” she grumbled aloud—another habit that she’d gotten into, which contributed to her being ostracized and labeled as a crazy.
Sidney wasn’t necessarily a rule-breaker, but she sure as hell didn’t usually allow other people to tell her what to do. She wanted to see something else besides the endless miles of canvas tents and FEMA trailers, and today was her fucking day to do so. The rules be damned.
She stepped across the bare patch of ground where the already sparse grass was worn away by the endless foot patrols. It was an exhilarating feeling to finally take action and get out of the camp. She smiled and took three steps before the sound of a bullhorn stopped her.
“Return to the camp.”
Sidney glanced around and saw one of the big, wheeled vehicles—the soldier she’d met at the first checkpoint outside the city had called it a Stryker—about two hundred feet away. They didn’t have the big gun trained on her, but there was a guy with a rifle pointed in her direction.
She held up her hands to show that she didn’t have any weapons.
“Put your hands down, lady. Just go back into camp.”
Her hands slowly lowered and she began to turn. Then, something inside of her, the same thing that had given her the resolve to carry on after Lincoln died, made her stop. Enough was enough.
She spun back around and began walking toward the buildings in the distance.
“Hey! Stop or we’ll shoot!” a frantic voice said over the speaker.
“You won’t shoot me,” she yelled.
The sound of heavy boots slapping on the ground startled her and she stopped. Maybe they will shoot me.
It only took them a few seconds to surround her. “Come on. Just go back to tent city,” one of the soldiers, a female, said.
“I need some things that I can’t get in tent city,” Sidney replied tersely and tried to step around the group blocking her path.
Several of the males made comments about dragging her back or locking her up. One even suggested that they deposit her ass outside the walls since she couldn’t follow the rules. The female soldier gave her companions an icy glare that silenced them before looking back at Sidney.
“What do you think you need that we haven’t provided for you, ma’am?”
“Well, for starters,” Sidney started to lift up the hem of her shirt, which caused two of the soldiers to level their rifles at her, making her stop her misguided attempt to show them her stomach.
“Cool it, Jenkins,” the woman ordered. Sidney noticed that she had three stripes and a swooping line underneath on the patch in the middle of her tactical vest. She couldn’t remember which variety of sergeant that insignia represented, but it meant that the woman was in charge of this group. “You gotta take things slow and easy, ma’am. We were just on the wall yesterday before rotating to guard duty for a week.”
Sidney nodded. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. I’m pregnant.” She pointed to the button fly on her jeans. The top three buttons were undone, only the bottom one was in place. “I was just going to show you that I can barely button my pants now. Pretty soon, it’s gonna be impossible.”
The sergeant asked, “Supply can’t get you some new clothing?”
“No. They don’t have any clothing, regardless of how much people ask,” Sidney replied. “I also need prenatal vitamins, and I want to get some pillows for my back…maybe some books to pass the time.”
The sergeant motioned all of her men away. “Go back to the truck. She’s not going to be a problem.”
The soldiers grumbled, but ultimately complied with her directive, leaving the two of them alone in the no-man’s land between the refugee camp and the main base. “Okay. I think we can help with a few of those things. The PX is pretty empty, as you might imagine, but I’ve heard that we’re going to start supply runs soon. Regardless, I’m sure there are some sweat pants or yoga pants somewhere.” She took off her glove and stuck her hand out. “I’m Caitlyn.”
“Sidney,” she replied, taking the younger woman’s hand. “Um, forgive me, I’m still new to all this. You’re a sergeant?”
“Staff Sergeant,” Caitlyn clarified. “It’s one rank higher than a sergeant, E-5. I’m a squad leader and that’s my Stryker and my squad.” She gestured at the large vehicle. “How far along are you?”
“Almost six months. I can’t fit into any of my old clothes.”
The sergeant smiled sadly and removed her helmet, revealing blonde hair tied into a ponytail. “I had a little girl, Jocelynn. She had the brightest blue eyes and a laugh that could melt any heart, no matter how tough you were.” She stopped and drew a ragged breath. Wiping the corners of her eyes with her one ungloved hand, she continued, “But that’s the old world, y’know? She’s in heaven now.”
“I’m sorry, Caitlyn. I just…” She searched for the right words, but none came, so she settled on, “I’m so sorry.”
The soldier nodded her head and for some reason, she didn’t know why, Sidney reached out and hugged her awkwardly over the bulky tactical vest. She resisted at first, and then wrapped her arms around Sidney, pulling her tight against her body as she cried, silently at first, then in sobs of pent up sorrow. The woman’s pistol dug uncomfortably into Sidney’s sternum and her hands got caught in the weapon sling.
Sidney had never been one to comfort friends or be a shoulder to cry on. She’d always been the hard-nosed, no-nonsense kind of person who believed that strength and wisdom were a woman’s greatest attributes. But hugging that poor girl who’d lost her child felt like the right thing to do, so she allowed herself to leave her comfort zone, to put aside her reputation as the camp psycho, and just be there for another woman in need.
After a full two minutes, maybe even three, Caitlyn disengaged and wiped away the wet lines on her cheeks. “Thank you. I haven’t… It’s hard being one of the only females in an all-male company, y’know? I don’t have anyone who understands that sometimes, I just needed a hug.” She pointed at her truck once again. “All these guys want to fix things, to make it better and move on. There’s no bringing my daughter back. There’s no fixing it.”
“Are you—”
“No, no. I’m okay,” Caitlyn assured her. “I’m not going to suck start my M-4 while I’m sitting on the toilet. I just needed a good, hard cry. Thank you.”
Sidney nodded silently, rubbing the sergeant’s upper arm as she did so. Sometimes silence was better than confusing things with words.
After another moment, Caitlyn composed herself and covered her blonde hair with the helmet she’d taken off. “We’re on duty for another couple of hours. I can’t let you past us unescorted, but if you come back here at noon, I can escort you to the PX to see what we can get for you over there. At the very least, some of my soldiers may have
some clothes to give you.”
Sidney weighed her options quickly. She could refuse and continue to try and break the rules—and lose the one potential ally she’d just gained—or she could go back to the camp, wait a few hours and come back here to be escorted, legally, onto the main post. It was a no-brainer.
“Thank you, Caitlyn. Thank you so much! I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Okay?”
3
* * *
MIDLAND-ODESSA, TEXAS
SEPTEMBER 14TH
Lieutenant Murphy sat back against the canvas webbing that ran along the fuselage as the giant rotor blades above him thrummed steadily. They’d been in the air over the west Texas desert for an hour and a half before they sat down at a forward area refueling point. It was what the rotorheads called a “FARP,” because the Chinook only had a range of 400 miles without extra fuel bladders mounted inside—something that Command decided was too heavy for the birds if they were going to get every scrap of food and supplies from that Sam’s Club in one go.
Jake’s platoon had pulled additional safety at the site where helicopters from Bliss had previously dropped full fuel bladders. With the fuel from the FARP, they’d be able to make it all the way to the warehouse and back to El Paso without stopping again. Thankfully, the refueling operation was uneventful and everyone had loaded back into the choppers for the last leg to Midland.
“Look at that!” someone shouted from somewhere near the door gunners.
Jake looked toward the front of the helicopter and saw one of his soldiers, he couldn’t tell which one, pointing out the open hatch where the port-side door gunner had his hand over his mouth, holding the microphone close to his lips. He nodded and pulled back the charging handle on the M-240 mounted on a rail in the hatch, then slammed it forward, hunching down slightly so his eyes lined up with the iron sights. He depressed the butterfly triggers and the machine gun began to rock and roll.
Jake unbuckled his lap harness and turned in the flimsy seat so he could see out of the Plexiglas bubble set into the Chinook’s fuselage. The bird wasn’t trying to evade any enemy rockets or fly in any fancy maneuvers, so he was fine just holding on to a cable that ran the length of the helicopter for support.
The downtown area of Midland bristled with several high-rise buildings, densely packed into a few blocks. The rest of the city spread out for what seemed like miles in the hazy morning sun. Down on the ground, thousands of infected ran through the streets of Midland toward the sounds of the helicopters approaching the city from the southwest.
Soon, the gunner on the starboard side began to fire, followed quickly by the ramp gunner at the back of the helicopter. From his angle at the window, he saw hundreds of shell casings falling from the helicopter adjacent to them, the brass twinkling in the sunlight as it fell.
It was beautiful.
Other than the gunners raining down death from above, there was nothing else to see that they hadn’t seen a hundred times before. The fucking infected ran toward the sight and sound of the helicopters, heedless of obstacles, barriers, and even each other. It was as if their brains could only process the fact that there was potential prey in the area and nothing else mattered.
Just what the hell are they infected with? Jake wondered for the thousandth time. And even if we knew, is there a cure besides killing them?
His men often accused him of keeping secrets from them, since he was an officer. In truth, he knew just as much as the rest of the grunts on the ground—or, in the air in this case. The captain didn’t know anything more, and as far as either of them knew, neither did Spartan Six, the commander of 1-36 Infantry—Jake’s battalion.
If anyone knew anything about the nature of the disease, it sure as hell wasn’t the men and women on the ground fighting the creatures on a daily basis.
Someone patted his knee hard enough to make him think it was intentional and not just an accident in the cramped space. He turned back around and Specialist Barrera, his driver and radio telephone operator, or RTO for short, yelled something, pointing toward the front of the bird. Jake shook his head, pointing to his own ear in turn, and eased himself down off the seat.
“What?” he shouted into Barrera’s ear to be heard over the Chinook’s engines, the gunfire, and the earplugs that they all wore.
“Pilots want to talk to you,” the soldier replied.
Jake gave him a thumbs up and made his way toward the cockpit, slipping between the knees of soldiers stretched out into the center of the helicopter and the crates of extra ammunition secured there. They expected a fight.
When he finally made it to the cockpit, one of the pilots, a Chief Warrant Officer 3, lifted his darkened visor and handed him a pair of over-the-ear headphones with an attached microphone. Jake accepted them and took off his helmet so he could put them on. Once the cups were over his ears, the heavy staccato of the machine guns just a few feet away deadened to dull thuds.
“Can you hear me, LT?” the pilot who’d given him the headset asked.
Jake fumbled with the transmit button for a moment and then replied, “Yeah. What’s up, Chief?”
“You’re the ground unit commander, sir. We need to know if you still want to proceed with the mission.”
He looked out the cockpit’s windows, which afforded him a complete 180-degree view. The cities of Midland and Odessa were officially about two miles apart, but over time, they’d grown together. Their pre-infection population had been about 250,000 people combined; there was no telling how many of those remained.
It sure as hell looked like every one of them from up here.
Jake considered his options. Captain Massey’s orders were to not take any unnecessary risks, but he knew the food situation would soon turn desperate back at Bliss, so sooner rather than later, they’d be forced to try these types of missions anyway. He had two full platoons of infantrymen, battle-hardened and proven in the current conflict, at his command. Plus, they’d burned a ton of fuel to bring the six helicopters all this way.
“I want to draw them away from the warehouse,” Jake finally answered after what seemed like an eternity. “Swing out over the north part of town and then circle back to the target building. Think we can do that?”
“Sure, but we only have enough fuel to fuck around for about thirty minutes, sir.”
Jake nodded and keyed the microphone again. “Okay. What can my guys do to help?”
“Other than resupplying the gunners with ammo, just sit back and enjoy the ride,” the warrant officer replied. “We’ll tell the other birds what we’re going to do, then move out.”
Jake took off the headset and hung it on a hook beside the small cockpit opening, then shuffled back to his seat, tapping the soldiers on the helmet as he went by. “Keep the guns supplied with ammo!” he shouted, gesturing between the cans of ammunition and the door gunners. “We’re gonna circle around the city and then land.”
He told every third soldier the same thing, relying on the fact that they’d pass the word to the guys who didn’t get the message firsthand. Once he was sure everyone had an idea of what was going to happen, he sat back down in his seat and looked out the window. The helicopter on the far flank had lowered by several hundred feet, their guns firing point-blank into thousands of infected, literally mowing them down with well-placed and accurate gunfire from the M-240s.
Jake knew that the infected weren’t like some mythical zombie. They didn’t need nearly impossible headshots to kill them. They could bleed out and die from severed arteries, fire would kill them, and they could be shocked and die. Anything that would kill a regular human would kill the infected as well—except little things like pain or broken bones didn’t bother them, which is why some of the soldiers insisted on calling the creatures zombies.
The helicopters, which to Jake looked like they’d spread out significantly, continued to spit lead to the sides and rear as the formation circled northward, the infected following away from the target building—and dying—by the hu
ndreds.
They made a giant loop, all the way to the far side of the city and hovered low, sending giant, billowing clouds of dust skyward. The infected continued to chase after them and Jake worried that they may actually be drawing more of them from the surrounding countryside. But, it was the best option they had.
After hovering low for around five minutes, the formation of helicopters turned and headed slowly into the dessert, leading the mob further out into the desert as the tail gunners blasted them. Several more minutes of this technique passed, and then the helicopters picked up speed, moving far ahead of their pursuers before gaining elevation and banking back around to the southwest.
Midland shrank in the distance below them and then the formation once again turned back toward the city, approaching from the south. The pilots flashed the red interior lights, indicating that they were on approach. To Jake, who’d never participated in a real-world helicopter operation outside of Ranger School, it seemed that they were impossibly far away and much too high to be on approach for landing. He wasn’t a pilot, though, he was just a passenger for this leg of the trip and he knew that, so he sat back and buckled in.
His stomach flipped and felt like it would burst from his throat as the helicopters dropped rapidly from the sky. The only thing he could see through the open cargo ramp at the back of the bird was blue sky, so he had to hope that they were headed to the target building as planned and not some emergency mission abort from Higher that he didn’t know anything about.
