Z-Level 10: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Cole, Michael

“Whatever gets the job done,” Dunn said.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Gordon said.

  “Marine, are you blind? Have you seen what’s been going on?”

  “It was a rough day. Rougher than usual. But it comes with the job, Dunn,” Gordon said.

  “Job? What job? Being thrown into the fire for the sake of two useless guys who the government couldn’t manage to extract before the area was overrun? Maybe you like being cannon fodder for the big wigs in government. I don’t. Just because we’re marines doesn’t mean we’re useless bullet sponges that can be thrown to the fire whenever they need a little favor. They see us as tools, man! Wake up.”

  “Dude, I think you’re getting a bit paranoid,” Gordon said.

  “Either I’m paranoid, or you’re blind,” Dunn retorted. “They never intended us to pick up a large crowd. We were there for the Senator, and whoever that other guy was. They KNEW that area was overrun. And they sent us down anyway.” He looked to Reimer, his expression demonstrating a search for validation.

  “We don’t know that, Dunn,” Reimer said.

  “I’ve been on plenty of missions I wasn’t sure of, but it turned out to be worth it in the end. One time, we thought we lost the civilian group. Like today, the undead had overrun their barriers. We thought they were gone, but before calling it quits, we infiltrated the school and found them hiding in the gym. They thought we left, but we didn’t. There were some doctors and nurses in that crowd, as well as some old vets. They would be dead if not for me and my unit. It’s what we do. You act like we’ve never been in rough zones before.”

  “Being in a rough spot is one thing,” Dunn said. “It’s when we lose more than what we save, in a mission where such a result was obvious, is when I have a problem. I don’t like having my ass put on the line to rescue,” he formed air quotes with his fingers, “important people.”

  “You don’t think we should be out there?” Gordon said. Dunn snickered. The question felt more like an accusation than anything else.

  “In my case, no,” Dunn said. “My contract was supposed to end months ago. Yet, here I am. “It has been so ordered you extend your time of service in the United States Marine Corps. Your nation, her citizens, and government are forever grateful for your service and sacrifice.” Yet, I’m risking my life saving the President’s special buddies.”

  “You’re an E-2,” Reimer said. “Perhaps if you would stop getting busted for conduct, you’d probably be a lieutenant by now. Probably wouldn’t have to go over the wall anymore.”

  “Bullshit,” Dunn said. “Why do you think you’re only a Corporal? They’re constantly sending people over that wall, and they’re running out of people to send. The rescue missions are not the same. They’ve become personal favors now. We’re running errands. Like that time when we had to report to that University in Idaho. There were no survivors, so instead they had us ransack the medical department.”

  “Well, hell!” Gordon remarked. “Not like we don’t need stuff like that these days.”

  “Except the area was a Level 6, not a 5,” Dunn said. “And wasn’t it convenient that Senator Ruiz’s nephew happened to be holed-up in there? Of course, I figured out who he was by accident. Saw the bastard give his uncle a big hug by the convoy. You see? They don’t see us as marines. They see us as personal errand boys, who can also be cannon fodder. We’re their personal slaves, doing work that nobody else will volunteer for. Hence everyone’s being forced to remain in service after their term has expired.”

  Gordon wasn’t ready to give up on his argument. Whether it was a desire to know his job meant something, or just a patriotic sense of duty, the twenty-five-year old marine always clung to faith in people. Dunn simply thought of him as naïve.

  Both men turned their eyes on Reimer, as though looking for him to settle the debate. The Corporal wasn’t sure what to think in this instance. Like Gordon, he had taken great pride in his responsibilities. But now, all he felt was worn down. He lacked Gordon’s enthusiasm, though he wasn’t sure he was as skeptical as Dunn. The military was growing too thin for soldiers to be uselessly hurled into senseless missions. Even the military officials would question it. In fact, they had. Even Spears had declined authorizing special operations into dangerous locations, where the objective was just to save a handful of civilians.

  His head felt too foggy to think it over. He could still hear Binkowski’s screams in his ears. He could still see Fisher falling to the pavement. And his brain kept replaying a certain false memory of him radioing the chopper on their way out. Undoubtedly, it was his subconscious beating into him what he should have done but failed to do. Had it played out that way, Kane would be partaking in this debate.

  Reimer couldn’t even think of anything to say. Nor did he desire to contribute in another debate between these two. Instead, he passed between them and entered the barracks. He walked down the long row of bunks, before finding unit D-38. He crashed down and stared up at the ceiling. Veils of glassy imagery curtained his vision and he dozed off.

  CHAPTER 6

  General Spears sat near the middle of a long rectangular table. The room was brightly lit, the interior completely clean. The conference building was only fifty miles from the new capital, which was still undergoing construction. During which time, the President and staff were sheltered in a large bunker. Just like in past presidencies, he still had a secret service following his every move. Currency still moved in the functioning area of the country. Only now, taxes were much higher. New laws were being enforced, including the outlawing of prolonged unemployment for anyone without a disability.

  Spears was surprised how few government officials were attending this meeting. It was just the President, Vice President, and the Border station Commander, all sitting across from him. Often, such meeting would include the Chief of Staff, Secretary of Defense, and numerous Senators.

  The President was a man in his mid-fifties. Three years ago, at the time of his election, he could’ve passed for a decade older. But inheriting the worst time in a nation’s history had visibly aged the man. He still wore his suit without any unwanted speck or wrinkle. His tie was straight and his demeanor calm, as though he had total control of the situation.

  Part of that was due to having greater control. It was already determined that there would be no election cycle come next year. Emergency powers had been granted during the time of the outbreak, giving him the authority to evacuate to the west coast. But Spears never questioned his actions or authority. In times like this, it was best to be a good soldier and get in line.

  The Commander stood at the front of the desk, addressing the radio call his team had intercepted thirty minutes prior. He pointed to the satellite imaging on the map, with a red pin on the approximate location. It was in Montana, roughly 500 miles from the border.

  “And that’s it,” the Border Commander concluded. The President rotated in his chair and looked at General Spears. He clasped his hands and leaned forward slightly, his facial expression as cold as ice.

  “General, it is IMPERITIVE that this subject be extracted,” he said. He carefully enunciated each word as he spoke in an effort to get the point across. “I know what the rules of engagement are. But this is Top Priority.”

  “How soon can you make it happen?” the Vice President said. The question also served as a statement. These leaders were applying pressure to the General. He had felt it a hundred times before.

  “Sirs,” he began. “We are running short on manpower. I can, and will, make this operation happen, but you will have to give me some time. My best team has just arrived over the border. Staff Sergeant Keegan’s unit. I’m sure you remember his name.” The President nodded. After all, he was the one to implore Spears to order that team into the hospital after it was declared above Level 5. “I want him leading the charge.”

  “Good. I want the best going out there,” the President said.

  “Why would this present a delay?” the Vic
e President asked.

  “They just lost three more marines on a rescue op in Idaho,” Spears explained. “Frankly, to conduct an operation such as this, there will undoubtedly be casualties….”

  “I’m sorry, General, but it’s peanuts compared to the cost of not completing the mission,” the Vice President said.

  “I’m aware, sir. But to maximize the possibility of success, we need to have a larger team sent in of at least ten personnel. To do this, I’m gonna have to reassign men from other units, and with most of my units being unavailable, I’m left with few options other than to wait for some of those units to return.”

  “I have a simple solution,” the Vice President said. “There are men available in Naval Base Kitsap and there are Army personnel in our newly constructed facility in northern California. We will send some of their manpower up here.”

  “Good idea,” the President said. “It flows into our discussed ideas of condensing the military branches into a unified armed force, with three environmental commands.”

  “What else would you need, General?” asked the Vice President.

  “The team is going to need special equipment for them. Considering the terrain and outbreak level, there won’t likely be a good place for the chopper to set down in that area. It won’t be the same kind of simple pick-up operation like most of the others. They will be on foot for a good part of the journey, meaning stealth is the key. That being said, I’m going to have to arrange chopper flights and refueling. Because of travel time on foot, the chopper will not be able to wait. It will have to return, or risk being overrun while the team is out on mission.”

  “So, when then?” the President asked. “Tonight?”

  “Having this op at night is almost a guaranteed fail,” Spears said. “At best, it’ll be early dawn. If you can, I would suggest continuing to regain contact with the VIP. If you do, tell her to remain in the bunker until we arrive.” The President inhaled slowly. His stern face expressed dissatisfaction with the delay. However, he did understand the situation. The military was spread thin with multiple missions at once, and their numbers were dwindling by the day.

  “Okay. Thank you, General. That’s what we will do,” he said. “Keep me updated. As I’ve said before, it is IMPERITIVE that Dr. Stacy Hill be brought back in one piece. The future of humanity might be resting on it. You understand me?”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” General Spears answered. “I understand.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Reimer could not stay asleep for longer than an hour at a time. He hoped that being on his own bunk would remedy the situation but being away from the action somehow made it worse. Every time he managed to doze off, images of his fellow marines flashed in his unconscious mind. It was something he repeated on a daily basis, only now it felt worse. The only way he could think to describe it was being really far away. The fifth time was the worst. Binkowski’s screams seemed to echo through the sky as he was watching a marine be eaten alive on concrete pavement several yards away. The dreams triggered stress in his brain, causing a wave of adrenaline that snapped him back into reality. Each time, he woke up as exhausted as he was when he had laid down.

  It was sometime in the middle of the night when he decided to get out of the bunk. Dunn was sound asleep a few rows down, snoring loud enough to bring the building down. By now there were only a few other marines sleeping in the barracks, as many of them were still out on duty.

  Reimer went to the sink and splashed water over his face. The sensation of grime was constant. No matter what he did, it always felt as though he had his face buried in grit. After hitting his eyes with a third handful of water, he stared at himself in the mirror. His face was unshaven for two days, which was something he would have to correct. But in this moment, he didn’t care. He needed to get his mind off the constant nightmare that replayed in his brain.

  ********

  Ceiling lights beamed down over the training facility. He stood at the start line, reloading the issued Cold 9mm SMG. In front of him was a large plywood setup of a building structure, with a few concrete obstacles for him to maneuver around. Rectangular holes had been carved out to mimic windows in the two-story structure. The Corporal finished loading and waited for the timer to go off. This was his second go at the raid course. Even at night, there was a training officer always manning the station. Marines were allowed to come in on their own endeavor, provided they use no more than two magazine’s worth of ammunition. The trainer, a stone-faced Sergeant who stood a foot taller than Reimer, walked out from the setup after rearranging the targets. He always had a different scenario to challenge trainees. After all, running the same setup over and over would create a sense of rehearsed action, which was counter intuitive for trying to hone spur-of-the-moment marksmanship.

  The buzzer went off. Reimer burst through the plywood entrance. There was the first target of an illustrated ghoul lunging with outstretched jaws. He aimed for the bullseye on its head. A three round burst hit around it. Good enough in his eyes, as long as he hit the damn head.

  Reimer weaved through a bend in the pathway before coming to an open entry to the left. He hugged the corner for a moment then whipped inside. The room was clear. Reimer proceeded back into the hallway, finding another room on the right. In the back was a large corpse. He put two bullets in it and began to exit the room.

  “Ah! Ah!” the arms trainer said. “Still alive, marine!” Reimer looked back. His bullets went low, one through the neck, the other through the mouth. The trainer did not let up. “Get it! It’s on you now! It’s got its arms around your neck! It’s gonna rip your damn guts out!”

  Reimer sprayed bullets, destroying the illustration that was the ghoul’s face. He whipped back into the hallway, the trainer following at his heels. He took a right turn and entered a lobby. He managed to shoot around the ‘human’ targets, striking the ghouls in the head. The opposite door led him upstairs, where the final target awaited.

  A thin cardboard slide sprang up, propped by a mechanical prop. As instructed, he plunged his bayonet into its head, sending thin shards of carboard into the air as he ripped it free. He aimed the rifle as another prop held dual targets. The first one was that of a fallen marine, the other was a ghoul that was drawn to seem as though it was about to devour him.

  Flash imagery of his teammates pounded the Corporal’s mind, causing a complete freeze-up.

  “What are you doing! You’re getting your teammate killed, you dumb shit! You fucking coward!” the trainer yelled. The Corporal tensed, then ran forward as the trainer continued to shout. “You waited too long! He’s dead now! Good going!”

  Reimer ignored him, proceeding to kick the target with his boot. He aimed down and emptied his mag into the shoulders, neck, and torso. The enraged action even caught the trainer by surprise.

  “Whoa! Knock it off, cowboy. You’re wasting precious bullets!” he said. He clicked on the timer. “Three minutes, seventeen seconds. You blew it at the end there, Corporal. Don’t know what your issue was today. Whatever happened to the badass that duel-wielded Berettas like he was in a video game?”

  “I thought you hated that,” Reimer muttered.

  “I do. It’s dumb practice you only see in the movies. But at least you had your confidence and kept your temper under control. Better keep yourself in check, boy, because you fail like that out there, you’ll end up like one of those drooling freaks. Now, unload your weapon and set it on the table. Your two freebies are up.”

  Reimer was already halfway done. He set the weapon down and yanked his pistol free. After ejecting the mag and clearing the slide, he placed everything down next to the submachine gun. Without saying a word, he walked out of the training station.

  The cool air felt refreshing as he walked back to the barracks. It was a quarter mile walk from the training station, but something about it was therapeutic. Perhaps it was the quiet. Looking around, the area was void of activity except for a few night patrols. Looking to the east, he
could see the lights lining the top of the Border.

  At that moment, the brief peace he felt slipped away. He knew that behind that wall were hordes of the undead, all clamoring to get into the safe zone. In the silence he could hear their combined moans echoing in the night. He wasn’t sure whether he was literally hearing them or if it was just his imagination. It didn’t matter, as either one would be enough to bring back the images of death to the forefront of his mind.

  He quickened the pace of his walk until he reached the barracks. He reached to open the front door, only to step back as it opened before he could touch it. There stood Gordon, all dressed up in tactical gear. He looked to Reimer with equal surprise.

  “Corporal? I thought you had already gone,” he said.

  “No, I’m just getting back from the range,” Reimer said. He could see Dunn approaching the entrance behind Gordon. He too, was geared up and ready to go. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got new orders. We’re supposed to report to the hangar bay for briefing. Keegan’s already there,” Gordon said. “Where did you go?”

  “Just getting my ass kicked by paper drawings,” Reimer said.

  “Surprised any of us had time to do that,” Dunn bickered. “Or anything for that matter. Hell, I thought they’d at least let us get a full night’s sleep before shipping us off on another wild goose chase.”

  “Have they said anything about where we’re going?” Reimer asked.

  “They said they’ll tell us at the briefing,” Dunn answered. “Now, if you would excuse me.” Reimer stood out of the way as Dunn proceeded to march for the hangar bay. Reimer could sense the suspicion in his voice. Even before hearing the details, he was already questioning Command’s purpose for sending them. Usually, when notified, the team was at least given a location and outbreak level right away, then given the rest of the details at briefing. Sometimes, it would even be while en route to the site. Something about this seemed more on the DL. Already dressed and ready to go, Reimer followed his fellow marines to the hangar bay.