ZNIPER: A Sniper’s Journey Through The Apocalypse.

by Ward III, C.

  A shiver ran down his spine. This was really bad. An EMP doomsday event multiplied by a biological-containment breach. Over the next couple of hours, Anny and Kevin discussed short-term options and speculated on what was happening to the rest of the world.

  In the parking garage a couple of hours later, the majority of the staff left their place of employment for the last time, never to return again. Kevin watched them as they walked with their heads hanging low in a single-file formation out of the parking garage, with only a couple of security guards for each large group. He said his goodbyes to a few close friends, carefully maintaining a safe hygienic distance brought on by thoughts of a virus crawling over all of them.

  He swung open the door to the security office, surprised to see his partner doing the same thing he had come to do: pillage the equipment locker. Dan looked up at Kevin, then continued stuffing his backpack.

  “Don’t take it all; I’m getting in there too. Where you heading? You have a plan?” asked Kevin.

  “Have a small cabin up north. Some of my family normally use it for the holidays. I’m going to fight my way through this city Rambo-style to the rural areas, then start patrolling north.”

  “I might have a better idea if you are interested…”

  With arms full of equipment, Kevin and Dan crashed into the conference room. They unceremoniously dropped the pile of backpacks, gun belts, and rifles on the long, polished wooden table.

  Kevin looked up. “Anny, do you remember Dan from this morning? He’s going in our same direction. Who’s this?”

  A new pretty face, also dressed in a white lab coat, came around the table with an outstretched hand, offering a firm handshake. “I’m Stephan, SL4 tech on Bravo Team. I’m also heading in the same direction. Would you happen to have another one of those I could borrow, preferably with a red dot?” she asked, pointing to the M4 rifles piled on the table.

  Dan gave Kevin a surprised look and shrugged. “Sure, we have plenty. More guns in the fight, the better.”

  A voice came over the intercom system: “Attention in the facility. Attention in the facility. All personnel must evacuate by midnight tonight. I say again, all personnel must evacuate the facility by midnight tonight. Pompeii Protocol initiated.”

  “What the hell is Pompeii Protocol?” asked Anny.

  “Flipping the oh-shit switch. It sanitizes the sublevels with thermite, then collapses the superstructure into the hole. It’s the worst-case scenario procedure that has been in place long before the labs were even operational. I guess they don’t expect to reopen for business anytime soon,” Dan stated.

  “There goes the ‘start fresh after a good night’s sleep’ plan,” Kevin acknowledged.

  “Traveling under the cover of darkness might be beneficial. Leprechaun and I will grab another set of gear for Stephan.” Dan offered. “Can you grab some bottles of water and any packaged food you can find? If you have comfortable clothes and walking shoes, I recommend putting them on.”

  THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

  is often a rough route.

  “Are we ever going to go home? Do you think we’ll ever find Erica?” asked Michael.

  “I don’t know. I can’t say honestly. Erica knows that we are here, which is a lot safer than in the city. She’s strong, smart, and resourceful. She knows that I would fight through hell to get her to safety, but neither of us would risk putting you boys in danger by traveling right now. She’ll make her way to us—I’m certain of it. But the world is a lot bigger now,” Victor commented, poking the campfire coals with a flimsy stick. “A few days ago, we could board a plane and fly anywhere in the world in less than a day. Now? It took us three days just to walk the ten miles back here from town.”

  “True, but we also didn’t walk the road, which would have cut the time down drastically,” Curtis noted.

  “And I hope you all understand why we didn’t. If not, I fear you soon will.”

  Victor knew that at the moment, these country roads were safe to travel, but he recognized they were in the calm before the storm. They did not walk the road—instead, he used this time to show them how to use roads as a “handrail” for navigation, to stay far enough away to remain hidden from dangers but close enough to observe. He taught them some basic patrolling formations, hand- and arm signals, how to avoid and cross open areas, how to avoid hilltops and look for environmental disturbances that could mean danger or dinner. They all took turns walking point in formation; even little Zavier walked the front, still armed with his .22 rimfire rifle, which had been used to harvest three squirrels.

  To keep the condensation off while they slept, they built temporary lean-to shelters out of thick pine branches. The firepits were dug deep for a low-burning flame only high enough for cooking and comfort. When camp was made, Victor and the boys would circle the area, looking for anything worth foraging. They practiced making snare traps; set perimeter alarms made from string, stones, and empty soup cans; and Victor taught them how to camouflage the camp to avoid being seen from the road.

  They finally made it back to the rifle range, where they were happy to find their tents and supplies still waiting for them, right where they had left them three days ago.

  Being an active member who volunteered often to help with projects at the training center, Victor had a key to the metal-pole barn building and utility sheds used for storage and training classes. While the kids relaxed around the campfire, Victor searched the buildings for anything they could use. At first, he found the obvious useful hand tools, including a machete and small folding E-tool shovel. He grabbed a couple of coats and clean T-shirts off the apparel rack for the kids. Inside a filing cabinet in the classroom, he found a flashlight that surprised him when it came to life as he turned it on out of habit.

  “Kids! Kids! Come here quick!”

  They came piling through the door, breathing hard from the quick sprint—a competition to see who could get there first. Inside the dark room, Victor shined the flashlight into their eyes.

  “Look what I found!”

  “Yeah, we can see that,” Michael said, shielding his eyes.

  Victor turned it off. “This light—this flashlight—should not be working right now. But for some reason, it is!”

  “Maybe the EMP couldn’t penetrate the metal building?” Curtis said.

  “Maybe…” Victor said, looking around, contemplating. “You might be right; the light was inside the metal filing cabinet. Maybe the building and the cabinet created enough insulation to protect it? Open all the doors and windows so we can get some sunlight in here and start searching for other electronics that work! This is great news! Maybe stuff in people’s basements or garages will still work.”

  Even though they encountered no resistance, it took them longer than expected to travel the seemingly short distance from the Michigan Central Station, down the railroad tracks, over a couple of streets to the east, then followed the river north a few blocks to the marina.

  Downtown Detroit was unnervingly quiet and dark, shadowed by tall buildings illuminated only by the waning moon. The air was thick with rancid smoke that smelled of burning jet fuel and structure fires. They took their time performing a bounding overwatch technique, where Kevin and Anny would sit tight in a hidden position, watching and listening to the streets and their surroundings, while Stephan and Dan would walk forward a short distance to find a similar hidden spot. Then, Kevin and Anny would leapfrog past while the others kept watch. Doing this took a lot longer than a typical stroll through the city, but they all felt safer doing so.

  At the marina, they searched for a suitable boat for the journey up the coast. One of the large luxury yachts would have been preferred, but with all the onboard computers being fried, they were as useless as the motionless cars on the freeways. They settled for a decent-size open-top bass boat with an outboard engine and a cute name: Subtle Wave. Kevin and Dan seemed to know the most about boat engines, so Anny and Stephan stood watch on the shoreline.

/>   After cutting and splicing ignition wires, then passing a couple of blown fuses, the engine purred to life. At the gurgling sound of the engine, Stephan and Anny came running down the dock, carrying two small gas cans and a plastic bag of some sort.

  “Look what we found: extra fuel and a vending machine full of snacks and soda!” said Stephan.

  “This seems really strange, doesn’t it? Taking all this stuff…I mean, it’s theft,” said Anny.

  “I don’t think we are hurting anyone. Tomorrow all the grocery stores will be empty, if they are not already. Think of this as scavenging or foraging in a retro hunter-gatherer sense,” Dan noted.

  “To tell you the truth, I’d do about anything to get out of this city before sunrise,” Kevin added. “I’m not a fan of murder in cold blood, but the rules of day-to-day living changed today.”

  The four climbed on board the newly commandeered boat with all their belongings, untied from the dock, and slowly started trawling away from the marina, heading north. As the small boat approached the open water, the morning sky lit up with a flash, and an incredible peal of thunder rolled across as their former top-secret place of employment imploded into a pile of debris and rubble—a spectacular event that would never see a headline on any news outlet.

  Before dawn, they spotted another marina on the northern side of Lake St. Clair. They felt like a Viking raiding party coming to shore to plunder. After acquiring more gas cans, a couple of empty coolers, a folding travel map, several fishing poles, and a tackle box, they continued on their aquatic journey.

  By late morning, they had traveled halfway up the narrow St. Clair River, with Michigan off the portside and Canada off the starboard. They had only spotted one other boat, heading in the opposite direction and giving them a wide berth, and not a soul was to be seen on land.

  They took turns taking the helm, checking fuel levels, and watching the shore, trying to track their location on the tourist map. Lying down across the backseat with a shirt over her head, Anny asked, “Could we stop for a while? I have a killer headache and am a little sick to my stomach.”

  “I concur; we should shore up for a little bit to rest,” offered Dan.

  “Sorry, I don’t want to slow us down. I’m not sure if it’s the entirety of the situation or motion sickness,” Anny said.

  “Or both. No problem. It’s getting hot out, anyway. We should find some shade off the water. We could all use a rest,” Dan replied.

  They found a secluded cove with a nice sandy spot to anchor as close as they could to shore. They carried their gear up the small beach to make a little camp just inside the tree line for the best shade and breeze off the water.

  The stress of yesterday’s catastrophic events, night travel, and the brutal morning sun reflecting off the water took its toll. They had all passed out, sleeping heavily for several hours. Stephan was the first to wake. Lifting her ball cap off her face, she rubbed her eyes and was startled to see a large overweight man staring at her, holding a double-barrel shotgun.

  “What are you assholes doing on my beach?” he asked loud enough to wake up the others.

  “Sorry, sir, we didn’t know this was private property. We’ll leave right away,” said Kevin, holding his hands up. “We meant no harm.”

  “Damn right you’ll leave. You’ll be leaving those backpacks and weapons as well,” the big man, said lifting the shotgun over his protruding belly.

  “Look, sir, we’re not giving you our gear. But if you are in need, maybe we can barter,” Dan said sternly.

  “I don’t think you dickheads understand! You’re trespassing. I ought to burry you right here. In fact, I just might do that,” he said, shouldering the shotgun and pointing it right at Dan.

  “But that’s our stuff!” Anny cried out. “We’ll starve! You can’t do that!”

  “Well, maybe, little lady, I’ll keep you right here with me. Just to help me out with some special chores for a couple long days,” he said with a repulsive grin and a wink.

  “Hold on. Hold on,” said Stephan. “Here, take my bag. I’m tired of carrying it anyway.” She held it out for the fat man to take.

  With a triumphant smirk, he reached over to grab it, lowering his shotgun slightly. He took hold of his prize, and it swung down under the unexpected weight.

  It was then that he saw the pistol, that She had held hidden.

  With the bag out of the way, she fired two quick shots into his abdomen, causing his stained cutoff sleeved shirt to turn crimson red. The look in his eyes went from shock to pain to rage as his shotgun swung toward Stephan. She was faster, taking a step to the right and angling away from his shotgun. Thrusting the pistol out in a two-handed grip, she rolled her shoulders forward slightly—and now, with the muzzle only an arm’s length from his face, she didn’t even need to aim.

  Stephan didn’t remember firing the first two shots, but the sound of the third shot seemed to linger forever as the pistol slide recoiled backward in slow motion, ejecting a smoking brass shell casing, chambering a fresh round as the slide sprung forward.

  “Holy shit! You just murdered him!” Anny screamed.

  “He was going to take all our supplies! He was about to kidnap you to do Lord knows what!” Stephan cried out.

  “He wasn’t going to kill us, though!” Anny yelled back.

  “Same thing,” Kevin said, calmly assessing the situation. “Takes our stuff now, we starve in a few days. Same as killing us here but slower. Where did you learn to handle a weapon like that?”

  “I’ve taken a couple of classes and shot a few practical shooting competitions at a local gun club. I’m not the best, but I can handle a gun without hurting myself,” said Stephan firmly.

  Still stunned from the entire incident, they all stared at the mess of what used to be a man lying facedown in a pool of bloody sand. “I’m going to be sick,” Anny said as she turned away and then heaved into the water.

  “This could have been avoided,” Kevin said. “We should have scouted around before setting up camp. We should have had a watch; not everyone passed out sleeping at the same time. We’re actually kind of lucky he didn’t rob or kill us in our sleep. We should get out of here. Soon. Like right now, we need to leave.”

  The four travelers continued northbound up the narrow St. Clair river crossing under the Blue Water Bridge right as the river spilled into the great Lake Huron. After much debate, they decided to continue slowly pushing north throughout the night, sticking close to shore for navigation and the occasional quick and cautious pit stop. As they reached the thumb of Michigan’s mitten-shaped topography, they again debated at length to either cross the thirty-ish miles of rough open water or stick to following the shoreline of the Saginaw Bay, adding an additional one hundred miles to their boat trip. They opted to raid another marina for fuel and then to bravely, or foolishly, traverse the fourth largest lake in the world in a pitifully undersized boat.

  Beat up and nauseated from heavy rolling swells, they finally made landfall near the preselected small coastal town of Tawas, which had a crescent-shaped bay that housed beautiful blue and green water. Near a lighthouse with a tall white tower and an attached bright-red home, they spotted a lone man along the shore, who, from a distance, appeared to be only armed with a couple of fishing poles. Giving the elder some distance, they drove the boat right at the beach until they hit sand.

  “He looks harmless enough, and we have the numbers on him, but just in case…cover me,” Dan advised.

  “You should leave him be. He’s probably the bait for a trap,” Anny said under her breath.

  Dan gave her a disregarding glance and dropped his weapons and equipment. Empty-handed, he strolled over to the fisherman with a casual swagger. After trading a handshake, some news about southern Michigan state of affairs, and one gently used, no-longer-needed fishing boat, Dan returned to the group with a bucket full of fresh fish and some disheartening information about the locals. Apparently small towns, such as this, were not immun
e to lawlessness in the absence of order.

  A major waypoint had been reached in their journey, and the next leg was a straight shot west for ninety miles through lightly populated regions. The four-day boating expedition had shaved 110 miles of dense urban zones—and who knows how many walking days and other deadly complications—off their trip. Even though they were all ready to leave the boat behind, the waterborne transportation had been a brilliant idea.

  Skirting the small town, ducking and weaving through patchworks of uninhabited areas, they were able to use binos and rifle scopes to observe the desolate town made up of boarded-up shops, broken store widows, and burnt-out shells of small businesses.

  Just on the other side of town, they found the beginning of the landmark they needed: Route 55, running east-west parallel to Huron National Forest, which was where they would make camp.

  MONSTERS

  The veil of society is very thin.

  “Come on, kids, we’re almost there. No piggyback rides, so don’t even think about it,” Kate scolded her children, who’d started this trek by running ahead at a sprint down the road. Now they were constantly falling behind with relentless complaining.

  Kate, with her young children—Max age eight and Tina age six—had been in Lake City, partying at her boyfriend’s house on July 4th. After the lights had gone out, it didn’t take long for all the beer and pizza to disappear, along with the snacks they had ready for the big fireworks party. Bags of chips don’t last that long when they’re had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. After a couple of days of clogged toilets and sweaty armpits, tensions started to rise.

  Kate’s junkie boyfriend told her, “Make yourself useful and go find some grub. Take your little food consumers with you too. And don’t you dare come back empty-handed.” On her way to the town’s only grocery store, she stopped at the corner gas station to find the doors chained shut.