by Brian Parker
Jake slapped him on the shoulder. “Be thankful he did, otherwise you’d be dead!” He put his own goggles on and one of the gloves before grabbing the radio strapped onto his vest. “Sergeant Turner, this is Red One. Over.”
“Go ahead, sir.”
“We’re in position at the back door. Did you guys drop the chains? Over.”
“Yes, sir. Each trailer has four or five chains on the roof. A couple of them fell off. Nothing we can do about those.”
“Okay. Give me the word when it’s safe for us to go outside.”
The old NCO paused for a moment and Jake took the opportunity to pull on his other glove. “You’re good to go, sir. The loading dock is clear.”
Jake depressed the horizontal door bar and pushed, leading the way out onto the three-foot wide concrete loading dock. It was the first time any of them had been out there; the trailers had been married up to their doors already when they arrived. The stench of rotten meat was overwhelming outside. This is where Carmen and the other family had dumped all of the meat from inside once the power to the refrigerators and freezers went out.
“Oh, God. That’s awful,” the soldier right behind him said, gagging.
“It’s not as bad over by the trucks,” Jake whispered. “Just get over there.”
Sergeant Orroro held the door for the two men carrying a long ladder. They had to get it in place and then get up on top of the trailer before any infected showed up. The two men ran until they were beside the trailer and they opened the ladder.
Jake followed behind and then stopped when he saw the body. A badly decomposed form, about the size of a male, was only a few feet from the dock. He’d been stabbed through the eye—the handle of a screwdriver blade protruded from the eye socket. “Who the fuck is that?” he asked.
“Who cares,” Orroro said, pushing past him. “Let’s go, sir. You don’t want to be down here when we start moving those chains around.”
The six of them scrambled up the ladder quickly and Jake looked up at Sergeant Turner, ten feet above him. “Still clear, sir,” Turner whispered, giving him a thumbs up.
They worked quickly, as rehearsed. While Jake went to the end of the trailer to watch for infected, Orroro’s team went to each corner and began to feed the massive chains that the soldiers above had dropped onto the roofs through the eyelets welded into the trailer. The sixth soldier busied himself with moving the ladder from one side of the trailer to the other. Once this one was ready to go, they’d have to climb down and then move over to the next trailer ten feet away.
The worst part was that they’d have to repeat the up and down process backward once the helicopters were hovering overhead.
The chains made more noise than Jake would have imagined possible. The men tried their best to lessen the noise, but there was nothing they could do to stop the clanging of the metal links against the trailer’s eyelets. Once the corners were in and a large pin ran through the links to keep them bound together, the four soldiers dragged the running end of their chains to more or less the center of the roof where Orroro connected them together onto a massive U-shaped shackle and secured it with the safety pin.
The sergeant set the shackle down carefully, ensuring that the chains weren’t twisted and then said, “Okay. This one’s ready.”
Jake nodded. “Let’s go over to the next one.”
They didn’t see any infected until they were hooking the chains into the shackle on the fifth and final trailer.
“Shit!’ Jake cursed, raising his weapon and firing at the creature as it rounded the corner. The report was much louder than the clinking of the chains had been. He snatched the radio off his chest angrily. “Where did that guy come from?”
“We didn’t see him up here,” Sergeant Turner asserted.
“Well he came from some—”
Another infected appeared at roughly the same spot. It came slowly at first, then began to scream and ran toward the trailers when it saw the six men up high. It dropped with a hole in its head.
“Sniper got that one, sir. He thinks there’s a hole in a fence or something out of our line of sight that they’re coming through.”
“We’re ready to go. Get the birds up and going,” Jake said into the radio.
The NCO didn’t reply. Instead, less than thirty seconds later, the engines of the helicopters roared to life and the whine of the blades beginning to turn echoed across the loading dock.
That’s when Jake heard more of the screams. He turned in a full circle, trying to determine where they came from before the rotors spun up to full speed and drowned out all noise. The best he could tell, they were on the other side of a concrete wall about a hundred feet away.
Another infected appeared at the corner of the building, and then another immediately on its heels. Both went down, only to be replaced by more of them streaming in from somewhere. He aimed and fired, hitting one as it was already falling from the snipers’ bullets overhead.
“You’ve got far, we’ll get near!” he shouted into the radio.
“Acknowledged. Good luck, sir,” Turner’s voice came back.
The loading dock fell into shadow as the first Chinook lifted off, then lowered carefully over them. Jake risked a look up at the bird. The crew chief’s masked face appeared through a small square opening in the bottom of the helicopter. He was talking the pilots into position over the trailer and the four-man team holding the chains.
Jake turned back around and fired at one of the infected that was less than twenty feet away, well inside the snipers’ field of view so they wouldn’t be able to engage it. He hit the woman high on the shoulder, spinning her around, but she quickly turned back and continued toward him. He took a half second to settle his nerves and lined up on the woman’s forehead. What was left of her hair flew wildly as the back of her skull exploded out behind her. She dropped instantly and Jake had to take a knee because the rotor wash from above practically knocked him over.
The snipers continued firing at targets and for the moment, the lieutenant’s engagement area was clear. He looked at the team behind him. Sergeant Orroro had the massive shackle in his hands while another soldier used a long pole to tap at the pintle hook underneath the Chinook, discharging the static electricity that could kill the man hooking the chains to the bird.
Jake turned back to scan his area. Nothing was close, but there was a low mound of dead infected near the corner of the building. He glanced in the opposite direction—everyone on the roof was probably focused on killing the creatures in front of him, so he wanted to be sure that nothing was coming from behind the team around the opposite side of the building.
It was clear, and so was the sling load team. The helicopter lifted slowly, taking the slack out of the chains and easing the pressure of the rotor wash. When the chains were fully extended, Sergeant Orroro checked them one more time for kinks or twists and then gave the crew chief a thumbs up.
Then the race was on. They ran to the back of the trailer and went down the ladder rapidly. Jake didn’t like that they were only four feet off the ground on the small ledge; a mob of infected could easily reach them, but it was what it was.
Once everyone was off the roof, the soldier in charge of the ladder moved it to the other trailer and held it in place while they all went up, and then followed them up himself. Jake waved the first helicopter away and it lifted skyward, the chains groaning as they adjusted to the weight. In seconds, the bird was away and flying westward toward Fort Bliss.
“There’s one!” Jake yelled enthusiastically as he went to the end of the trailer so the men could work with him out of the way.
“Son of a bitch!” Several of the infected had made it past the snipers and were also out of Sergeant Turner’s line of sight. Jake fired point blank into their faces, sending them to hell—or wherever they went.
The next helicopter roared in and they were complete with the hook up in under five minutes. Trailers three and four went about the same as the first tw
o, except that the infected had surprised him much quicker during the time it took to transition to the top of the fourth trailer as the sling load team got closer to the corner of the building.
Jake switched magazines again and congratulated himself for getting four of the five trailers of food secured. Then things went south during the transition to the last trailer. One of the infected had somehow made it past Jake unnoticed and grabbed Orroro’s pant leg as he came down the ladder. The damned thing was screaming, but the hovering helicopter hooked to the container drowned out all sound.
Orroro stumbled and fell off the dock, nearly taking the ladder with him. The infected was on him in an instant, tearing at his face with desiccated fingers and biting. The sergeant fired his pistol three times and the infected rolled away, dead. He stood shakily and held up his hand to see. The large, jagged semi-circle of missing flesh on his wrist where the gloves ended and his uniform didn’t reach told everyone all they needed to know.
“Mother fucker!” Orroro cursed. “I should have fucking stayed at Campbell. Goddammit!”
“Get up here, Sergeant,” Jake ordered, leaning down to help pull him up. The NCO cursed loudly and punched the trailer. “Stop it. You may be immune,” Jake stated. “The docs think that one-to-two percent of the population may be. Don’t give up.”
Orroro looked up at him and shook his head. “No, sir. I ain’t got that kind of luck.”
It took some work, but they got him up onto the loading dock and then scrambled back up the ladder onto the third trailer. The Chinook finally lifted away and turned west.
Jake slapped Orroro on the shoulder and went out to the end of the trailer. Behind him, the men worked quickly, preparing for the final helicopter.
The hook up was much slower this time as Orroro missed the pintle several times and the bird had to readjust. Once it was finally on, they waited for the chains to straighten and Jake had to verify that they were okay because the sergeant was crying.
“I’m done for, sir. I can already feel it moving inside me.”
“That’s in your head, man,” Jake shouted over the rotors. “It doesn’t move that fast.”
Orroro shook his head violently. “I can feel it. I’m gonna turn.” He wiped his eyes with his hand and then grimaced as blood from his wrist got into one of his eyes. “Fuck.”
They climbed down the ladder, careful to avoid the spot where the sergeant’s blood had smeared on one of the rungs. When they reached the bottom, they sprinted for the door and hurried inside the warehouse.
“I ain’t no bitch, sir,” Orroro said, seeming to have come to terms with his fate. “Gimme your grenades.”
“Sergeant—”
“No, sir. I’ll go out there and fuck as many of those things up as I can.”
Jake nodded and stepped back. “Here,” Orroro mumbled. “Here’s my weapon and all my extra magazines. I know they keep telling us we’re good, but we have to be running low on ammo. Brass never tell the grunts the truth.”
He handed the soldiers everything he could that didn’t have blood on it and then saluted Jake carefully to avoid flinging blood all over the lieutenant.
“Give ’em hell, Sergeant.”
“Fuck those creeps, sir,” the big man replied and then pushed his way out the door. “Now go!” Jake saw him hop down off the loading dock right before the door slammed shut.
The sling load team didn’t wait any longer. They ran through the warehouse and then up the ladder to the roof. “Let’s go!” Turner shouted as they emerged one by one through the skylight.
Jake ran to the edge of the building where the Chinook’s back ramp hovered mere inches above the concrete. “We got everybody, Sergeant Turner?” he screamed over the noise of the engines.
“Yes, sir. You and me are the last ones, minus Sergeant Orroro.”
Jake nodded and jumped up onto the ramp after Turner. The gunner waited until he was past him and then raised the ramp slightly, holding his hand over his mouth.
The engine noise changed and Jake felt the bird begin to elevate slowly. The roof dropped away below them and the pilot turned the nose westward.
He watched until the city was far behind them, but Jake never saw a cloud of dust or debris that would have indicated that Orroro detonated the grenades.
9
* * *
FORT BLISS MAIN CANTONMENT AREA, EL PASO, TEXAS
SEPTEMBER 15TH
“Well, this is all I can offer you,” Caitlyn said with a lopsided grin. “It’s not much, but until we can get someone from the garrison command to assign you different quarters, you’ll have to bunk with me.”
Sidney looked around the small room, barely more than a closet with a bunk bed and two wall lockers. The sheets on both beds were rumpled, so she guessed that someone else lived in the room as well, which made sense given how many people were crammed onto the installation. Most of the refugees in Camp Three were forced to do what the Army called ‘hot bunking’ where one person would sleep for eight hours on the cot and then a different person would use the same cot to sleep a different shift.
To Sidney, the idea of four solid walls, regardless of where they were, was heaven. “Thank you, Caitlyn,” she replied. “This is more than I ever imagined. You’ve been so nice, I—”
“Ah! None of that. You’re here because you deserve to be.” Her eyes visually went up and then down Sidney, causing her heart to beat a little faster. “You’re filthy, girl. Let’s get those off of you and we’ll put them in my wash bag. Our laundry services are really good—but they tend to shrink stuff because of the hot water.”
“Laundry service?” Sidney asked in amazement. All the refugees had were big basins of water and bar soap to scrub their clothing.
“Yeah. The Brass says that the smoke from burning infected, and certainly the blood if we come into contact with it, carries the disease, so they’re super strict about ensuring we keep our clothes clean. We have three or four laundry and bath companies that work twenty-four-seven.”
“The smoke carries the disease?” Sidney asked in alarm. “But all that ash and soot falls onto the refugee camps. It’s all over everything. The food, the water…”
Caitlyn shrugged. “Yeah, I think it’s garbage. Fire kills everything, right? I think it’s more that they want us clean to avoid other diseases, but who knows. What’s important is that you’re here now, so let’s get your clothing washed and get you a shower.”
Sidney tried to remember what day of the week it was, and failed. “I can’t remember what day it is.”
“Monday.”
“Okay, so Mondays are our shower days. What about the meal?”
“Sidney, you’re on the Main Cantonment now. We can shower any time we want, not just one day a week. Ration issue is by my military ID, two times a day at the cafeteria. I can share my food with you for a day or so, but we’ll definitely need to get you processed through Garrison so they can get you a ration card too.”
The floor seemed to drop out from underneath Sidney’s feet. She could shower whenever she wanted to? Like the walls, that fact seemed like heaven to her. She’d been forced to live amongst so many people for so long that she’d forgotten how little things like cleanliness—or the thought of being clean at this point—could make a person feel like a human once more.
“Are you okay?” Caitlyn asked.
“Yeah, I just—” She sighed, trying not to cry. “I’m just very thankful that I met you.”
“Come here,” the soldier ordered, pulling her into a hug. “It’ll be okay.” She disengaged and wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got that guy’s blood all over you. Let’s get those clothes off of you, and any of your other stuff that needs to be washed. While you’re showering, I’ll run everything over to the laundry, then first thing tomorrow morning, you’ll have all clean clothes.”
Sidney glanced down at her clothing in embarrassment. The new sweatpants and shirt that she’d just put on that morning were covered in blood—bot
h her own and from the man who’d attacked her. “I’m kind of a mess, huh?”
“You could say that,” Caitlyn agreed. “Here, let me help you.”
The soldier bent down and untied her shoes for her, gently sliding them off, and then pulled her socks off as well. She tossed those into a thick, green pillowcase and then gently pulled Sidney’s sweat pants off.
“Whoa. Um, do you need to borrow a razor, or is that how you always…”
Sidney felt her face redden. It’d been months since she shaved her legs. Months. “We couldn’t get them out in the camp.”
Caitlyn nodded and helped her step out of the pants without falling. “Well, don’t worry. We have some here. I can get you shaving cream and a razor.” She stood up and gestured toward the shirt. “That too. It’s disgusting.”
She did as directed and felt her breasts flop downward as they came free of the shirt. It was definitely an odd feeling for someone who’d lived her entire life with small boobs. With the pregnancy, her A cup had ballooned to a solid B, maybe even a C if she lied to herself.
“We’ll have to get the doc up here to look at you, get you on a proper diet and everything. Oh!” she exclaimed, making Sidney, now nude and self-conscious, jump slightly. “Sorry. Maybe the doctor can prescribe you extra rations too. That’d be good.”
“The doctor that I saw once down at the camp gave me a couple extra ration tickets, but it wasn’t much.”
Caitlyn turned away and rummaged inside the leftmost wall locker. “Well, things run differently over here, so… Here you go,” she said, turning around, holding a razor, can of cream, a new box of bar soap, and a washcloth.
“Wow. You’re…”
“Efficient. I know. It’s one of my stellar qualities.” She smirked and pulled a towel down off the back of the door. “Here’s my towel. Let me warn you though: it’s the standard, Army brown, water resistant towel, so you’ll be more frustrated than dry by the end of things.”
Sidney laughed. “Oh, it can’t be that bad.”
