“Looks like twenty or so! Shit!” Pollard’s voice drowned out by the machine gun in front of him.
The zombie stood up and ran towards the Humvee. My eyes locked on the bloodied creature coming at me. I gunned the vehicle forward, lining the creature up perfectly. The zombie hit the corner and spun to the side rather than up over the hood and into the turret with Pollard. I kept speeding up, putting some distance between us and them.
“Where are you going, Corporal? We have to go back.”
“I know what I’m doing, Private.”
At the intersection I swung us around. None of the houses had their lights on, but I knew they heard the commotion. They were watching, waiting to see what we did. I started back, Pollard spinning in the turret above me. A zombie got in my headlights and Pollard tagged it, red mist hitting my windshield as we sped past. More Zs amassed in my field of vision.
“I thought you said twenty or so, Pollard.”
There were some tracer rounds mixed in the 50 cal. and they sent an eerie orange glow each time one shot off. Pollard kept taking them out as I got us closer to the dead end again. “I can’t keep driving like this, Pollard. You take the ones behind us, I’ll get the ones in front."
I stopped in the middle of the cul-de-sac and grabbed my M-16. I pushed the door open, using it as a shield, as I took my firing position. Gunfire, diesel fumes, and tracer rounds assaulted my hypersensitive awareness.
A zombie darted out from behind the house closest to me. The thing was fast. I fired once but wasn’t steady and missed. I caught the curse word in my throat not wanting to distract Pollard with a verbal outburst. I let the Z get a bit closer, making sure it was lined up. The discord of battle faded as I squeezed the trigger the second time. I watched the thing drop, my bullet tearing flesh from its face.
My door slammed into me, knocking me from the safety of the Humvee and spinning onto the ground. I looked up and saw a zombie push himself back to his feet while another one jumped on the hood of our idling vehicle.
“Pollard!” I barked into the mic but I knew I was already too late. The one on the hood leapt out of my vision, towards the turret. The other zombie latched its hands onto my boot and opened its mouth. I pulled my free leg back and kicked forward, its head snapping back.
I saw a muzzle flash from the second-story window of the house in front of me, and the zombie lost its grip on my leg. Reports echoed in the cul-de-sac, muzzles flashed from all around me. I pushed myself against the tire and fired a shot straight into the head of the zombie as it clawed towards me.
The gunfire stopped. I stayed still, letting everything calm down for a moment. The fight lasted less than thirty seconds, zombies littered the suburban landscape. I cautiously got myself to my feet. When I turned, I was met with what was left of a zombie smeared across the windshield and top of the Humvee.
“Holy shit,” I said, awe creeping around the edge of my voice. Pollard still faced downrange in his turret, unaware how close the zombie carcass was.
Pollard swung around. “Fuck!” He pushed himself as far back in the turret as he could.
Porch lights popped on brightening the cul-de-sac. My eyes were still adjusting when a few halogen work lights flared to life drowning out the darkness around us. I hoped it didn’t attract any more unwanted attention. I used the butt of my rifle and started scraping the zombie off the windshield.
“How many do you count, Pollard?” I said. He didn’t respond. “Private Pollard. Hey!” He looked over at me, his eyes slightly glazed over. “Snap out of it.”
There was a long pause. “Looks like forty-seven, give or take, Corporal.”
I finished my walk around our blood-covered vehicle. “Shit. Roger. That’s what I have too. One hell of a pack.”
People started pulling back the curtains and turning on their house lights. Many of the residents were armed; the few that weren’t gave us a thumbs up or were clapping.
“Stay sharp. I’m going to talk to one of them.”
I walked to the house lit by our headlights, keeping my M-16 pointed down but at the ready. The front door opened as my foot hit the first step of the porch.
“I’m Corporal Donald Jackson, USMC,” I said.
“Thank you, Corporal. Tom Gilchrist,” the man in doorway said. He was dressed in jeans and a polo shirt and carried a hunting rifle that I couldn’t identify but had probably saved my life.
I didn’t go any further than the first step. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Gilchrist. Would you pass some information along to your neighbors for me?”
“Of course, Corporal. What do you need me to do?”
“Let everyone know to stay inside until the cleanup team comes,” I said. “It will be after curfew is lifted. Headquarters isn’t going to send them out until daylight.”
“I will. Be careful out there, Corporal.”
“Thanks. You too.” I spun on my heels and walked back to the Humvee. I got in and turned it around heading away from the mess that was once human flesh. The adrenaline of battle already wearing off.
We didn’t speak as I kept making turn after turn, driving back and forth through neighborhoods. The wind began to move through the trees and I saw clouds start rolling in.
I drove down a four-lane road; businesses scrolled by me, only lights in their parking lots illuminating them.
“Corporal,” the radio silence broken by Pollard, “can we stop? I really need to take a piss. If you keep heading this way we’ll hit a Kroger. We can stop there.”
“Yeah, I need to get out of this seat anyway. I’ll radio ahead, and let them know we’re pulling in.”
***
The next five hours went smoothly. We stopped only long enough to switch positions. I got two zombies and Pollard got one. It’s amazing how quick things become routine: kill a zombie, stop and send in the location while your partner keeps lookout for more of them, then drive and do it all over again. Three weeks. Three lousy weeks and I’ve already accepted our new reality. This could be the rest of my life, patrolling the streets, fighting a weaponless enemy that I’m more afraid of than any of the ones that I faced with weapons.
I turned the Humvee into the Tiger Mart gas station. “One hour left. Why don’t you finish up behind the wheel?”
“Copy that, Corporal.”
I got out, waiting for Pollard to hop down. The night was slowly turning to morning, dark black giving way to a gray hue. Fog formed in the trees along the parking lot pushing back into the darkened houses of suburbia. I pulled my M-16 up to the ready.
“Corp—”
“Shhh,” I hissed at the private, and motioned with my weapon. Two figures skirted across a back lawn, still partially concealed in the shadows. I followed them easily now that I had a bead on them. They moved quickly, darting from tree to tree. If they were Zs they wouldn’t be moving from tree to tree, unless that is a coincidence, or they could be … it was only another hour, why couldn’t they wait? Fuck.
I raised my hand, putting two fingers in the air, then pointed to the side of the gas station. Pollard nodded and headed that way. He stopped for a second at the propane tanks, then continued along the side of the building. “I got eyes on them,” he whispered into his mic. I made a beeline towards the storefront and took cover behind the ice chest.
I looked at the ground and realized I wasn’t stepping on broken glass. Most of the gas stations had been raided after the first week, but no debris probably meant no break-in. I set my rifle against the wall and looked into the building, my hands cupping my eyes to block the glare of the lights from the gas pumps behind me. The store was picked through but there were still food and drinks left. How the hell did everyone miss this one? They must be … oh, fuck.
I grabbed my rifle and straightened up, slipping around the side of the building. We had them surrounded if they were behind the building, but if they weren’t … I put my back to the wall and looked at the houses behind the trees.
“Mason?” I heard
Pollard’s voice, but it wasn’t through my radio. It carried across the early morning air.
“Polly? Is that you? What the fuck man?” The new voice, Mason’s I guessed, cracked a bit, nerves played along the edges of it.
“Mason, what the hell are you doing? It’s curfew. I—”
“There’s some food left in there. Not much, but some. We’re going to break in and get it. Take it back home.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I took one last sharp breath and spun around the corner, my rifle aimed in the general direction of Mason. “No, you aren’t,” I spoke loudly enough for him to hear me and hoped any of his buddies could hear me too. “You are lucky you aren’t already dead. You damn well should be. You are going to go back home right now.” I sized up Mason. He was a scrawny kid with long hair, no older than Pollard.
“Polly,” Mason didn’t even look at me, “we need that food. You know we do. We aren’t like you military guys. We are going to run out soon.” He took a step towards Pollard.
“Where’s your friend?” I said, my M-16 against my shoulder, aimed at Mason.
The kid took another step and looked back at me. “Polly, tell your buddy there to put his gun down. We aren’t the bad guys here. We aren’t dead, and we don’t intend to die.”
“Private Pollard, why isn’t your gun raised right now? Do you see Mason’s partner anywhere?”
Pollard raised his M-16 and pointed it at Mason.
“Put the gun down, man. I’m your friend. We played soccer together for fuck’s sake.” Mason held his position.
“Go home, Mason. Please, go,” Pollard urged his friend.
“No. We need the food. You won’t shoot me.”
A few lights turned on in the houses around us. This was getting worse fast. They were watching each other’s back.
“This is your last chance, Mason,” I said. “I’ve already given you too many.”
Mason took another step forward.
I pulled the trigger.
The gun recoiled lightly against my shoulder and I spun myself back along the side of the gas station, hoping I didn’t put myself in the line of fire.
Mason cried out. An animal-like roar of pain vibrated in the air. I heard gunfire and plaster chipped off around me as bullets hit the back of the building. I keyed my mic open. “Pollard, can you see him? Where are the shots coming from?”
Two more rounds hit the wall near me and I made my way towards the front of the building. There was movement from the houses around us. One person dashed from their back door and took cover behind a tree. Another door opened, but I didn’t see anyone come out; I figured whoever it was stayed low to the ground. With the person shooting at me that made three people. There were probably more, and they had the advantage of cover.
“Pollard! We got more coming. Where is the shooter, Pollard?” I kept my eyes trained in front of me but saw no other movement.
“You shot Mason! You hit him in the shoulder. We need to help him.”
“Pollard! Do your job. Where’s the shooter?” I barked, and double-timed it for Pollard’s side of the building.
Voices called out from around us. “What’s going on?”
“You see Mason?”
“I heard gunshots.”
“Me too.”
“They shot him!”
Mason called out, his words unintelligible.
“I’m coming around the corner,” I said. I hoped Pollard wouldn’t remember how to shoot his rifle when he saw me.
The private was standing in the open with his gun pointed towards a group of trees along a chain-link fence. I grabbed him, yanking him back alongside the building. Pollard’s finger pulled the trigger and his shot fired wildly into the air.
I caught my breath. Pollard stood behind me. The only sound was Mason’s loud, gurgled moans. Maybe I missed his shoulder. Shit.
“You should have fucking shot him when you had the chance, Pollard,” I hissed. “We’re fucked. I heard three voices, and I bet there’s more. And I have no idea where they are.”
“I went to high school with him, we were friends. I couldn’t…” Pollard trailed off.
“Yeah. Well, now his buddies are gunning for us.”
“You shot him,” Pollard said.
“I was doing my job. Now you need to do yours. Watch my back, they may try to come around from the front. If something moves, fucking kill it. That’s an order.”
I stuck the barrel of my M-16 around the corner. The test was met with resounding silence. This meant they weren’t looking, couldn’t see it, or they weren’t falling for it. I hoped it was the first one.
I got on my stomach and slid myself forward, enough to get Mason in my sight. The injured kid had his hand up closer to his neck. I lined up the shot, my body in tune with the rifle, I felt the trigger and slowly squeezed. The bullet hit Mason in the face, ripping through flesh and bone.
The report from my rifle echoed and faded, followed by silence.
I didn’t need to look to know what I had done. I started to slide back when I saw the muzzle flash and heard the shot. The bullet hit a foot away from me, dirt spraying in my face.
“I found one of his buddies,” I said to Pollard as I pushed myself to my feet. He didn’t look at me or say a word, but kept focused on the front of the building and the Humvee. “It had to be done,” I said, hoping I hadn’t lost Pollard. “We need to get out of here. I’m going to make a break for our girl over there. Give me covering fire. When I get to the Humvee I’ll cover you. Hopefully a few rounds from the .50 cal will scare them off.” Again he didn’t respond, or even look at me, but when I stepped past him, he followed.
I nodded at Pollard and fired a short burst. Although it was met with no response, I still didn’t trust anything. I took off towards the Humvee. Pollard’s rounds went downrange and I made it behind the door before I heard two shots ping off the vehicle. That meant there was at least one more person I had to take care of, somehow.
I turned to motion to Pollard to hold his position when a woman, pistol in hand, came around the back corner of the gas station. “You killed him! You fucking killed him,” she yelled as she ran towards Pollard. I brought my M-16 up as two rounds pinged off the door of the Humvee. The sound of the impact caused me to flinch and hold my shot.
That was all the time Pollard needed.
Her pistol was raised as she charged the young Marine. The private turned his body and pulled the trigger. She never had a chance. I heard her yell in pain as her legs kicked out and her body hit the ground. Pollard wasted no time and angled his M-16 lower, firing another round. I didn’t see the shot but knew the outcome.
Pollard stepped over the body and took up position at the back corner. I moved behind the Humvee so my legs weren’t exposed under the open door, turning to cover him in case they came around from the front. I kept my finger on the trigger, waiting for the next burst.
Instead of more gunfire, a male voice called out to me. “I’m walking into the parking lot. You already killed two American citizens this morning. I trust you won’t kill a third for no reason.”
A middle-aged man walked out from the far side of the gas station. In the dusky dawn light, all I could make out was that he was average height and weight and had short dark hair, his rifle pointed at the ground as he stepped towards me.
“Drop your weapon!” Keeping my aim on the man I inched along the driver’s side of the Humvee. When I got to the door I steadied myself.
“I knew you wouldn’t shoot. Thank you,” he said, his voice carried across the open parking lot. “Please, let’s not make this any worse. Polly, come on out. Please leave. We won’t tell anyone. We’ll get what little food is left in there and mourn the loss of two more of our family.”
I pulled the trigger halfway back, knowing I should keep pulling, but I gave him one more chance. “You will go back home. Turn around now. You are breaking the law.” My voice didn’t waiver.
The man took another step forward.
>
He was dead before he hit the ground. I watched his unmoving body. It’s amazing how easily humans adapt to new things. I kept my finger on the trigger ready to fire again.
Nothing moved. One minute turned to two. Two turned to three. I keyed my mic, “Pollard, you see anything back there?”
“No, Corporal. Nothing”
“Let’s get back to base. You drive while I call this in.”
Pollard walked back to the Humvee. He kept his rifle at the ready, but he wasn’t. His head hung low when he reached me.
“They only wanted food,” Pollard said, looking up at me. “Why? They weren’t zombies and you knew it. Why did you shoot?”
I made eye contact. “It’s my job, Private. And yours. I was following orders.” Pollard opened his mouth but I kept going. “This time we knew. Would we next time? What about the time after that? This is a new world, Private. Shoot first and ask later. We failed, but we were lucky enough to survive. I’m not going to fail again. Get in and drive. That’s an order.”
The Rescue
From that first morning, President Lansing made it clear that there were not enough resources for the military to attempt any rescues. Their mission was to contain the outbreak and keep the dwindling supplies safe.
After six months the country was getting accustomed to patrols, rations, and curfews. The government had the military stationed strategically as best they could. If you were trapped or chose to stay in a fallen city, you were on your own. It was a harsh new reality.
Then President Lansing ordered a mission to rescue survivors on an unassuming, little island in western New York.
Excerpt from “The Decade”
Dr. Rudolph Graham
Sergeant David Warner pulled his Humvee into its spot in the parking lot, put his cover on, and got out. He walked towards the motor pool office, ready to turn in his trip ticket and then get some sleep when he spotted Captain Blake. His commanding officer had no reason to be in the motor pool at this hour, unless he had something very specific to deal with. Warner changed direction and headed towards his officer.
The Night Page 7