Capt. Blake looked polished in his starched utilities, but six straight months of fighting had taken its toll on his body. As Warner got closer, he noticed the lines worn on his captain’s face making him look older than his thirty-three years. He was one of the few people that knew it was more than just leading his men that aged the officer. On their last night in Pittsburgh, when it looked like they weren’t going to make it out, Capt. Blake told Warner what happened to his family.
“It’s my fault the kids died,” Capt. Blake said. “I went in early to get some work done. No one was up so I slipped out. I didn’t know what was going on, no one did at that point. I had a couple of my men with me when I finally made it back home. That’s when I found them. She tore apart our two children. Teeth marks, broken bones, blood all over.” He shuddered, his eyes glazing over. “I could hear their quiet moans as they tried to crawl to me. They were no longer my kids. A shot came from the basement and knew one of the other marines had found my wife. As I walked out the front door, there were two more shots. If only I hadn’t left them earlier that day…”
Warner let the memory fade as he stepped up and stood at attention saluting Capt. Blake.
“At ease, soldier,” he said, returning the salute. “How was your shift last night, David?”
“It was fine, sir. Pretty slow, only three kills tonight,” Warner replied. The respect the two men had for each other went beyond that of military rank. A friendship had formed between the two after fighting side by side for half a year.
Warner was assigned to the company in Houston, where they fought for three months trying to take the city back. Houston was the first city officially recovered, and Capt. Blake’s marines were a key part of that.
Then they were dispatched as part of a last-ditch effort to save Pittsburgh. By the time they got there, the city was too far gone. They barely made it off the Fort Pitt Bridge before retreating up north to Niagara Falls. They left the city for dead and half of their men with it. Both marines knew Pittsburgh was gone before they got there but that didn’t lessen either the pain of loss or the unspoken anger of being put there in the first place. Too many marines lost in a battle that couldn’t be won.
“We’re close here, aren’t we, sir? I’m guessing we’re about to move again.”
“Yes, we are. Command is about to call Niagara Falls secure. They want us to move to Buffalo. The units there are still pretty green, so we will be stepping in to lead the attack.”
Warner smiled and nodded. “Time to take my city back from the Zs.”
Capt. Blake put his hand on his friend’s shoulder as they turned. “I knew you’d be happy, that’s why I came out here to let you know. I’m heading over for a briefing on the move into the city. Your last shift here is done. Start getting the men ready, we move out in the morning. Lieutenant Stevens will get you guys up to speed as soon as he can. Carry on, marine.”
***
“Sergeant Warner will lead 1st squad and be in overall command. Staff Sergeant Mendelson will follow, leading 2nd squad with 4th and 7th squad supporting. You will cross the Grand Island Bridge at 0700. We expect heavy Z activity, so stay sharp. At 0800 transports and staff will cross, followed by our LAVs. Cleanup crews will be last with 3rd, 5th, and 6th acting as rear guard.”
Lieutenant Paul Stevens paused for a second and glanced around the room. None of the men showed any concern about the briefing so far. He wasn’t surprised, all military personnel had grown up quickly in the last few months. Only Sgt. Warner was giving him a quizzical look and the young lieutenant knew why but kept going.
“Grand Island was cut off within the first week of the outbreak. It was a painful but easy decision for New York State to make. The bridges were closed and blocked by the national guard. After the second week, all attempts to flee stopped. Intel shows most of the island has been overrun.
“After we cross over into Tonawanda, the air force will destroy the two bridges and Grand Island will be listed as fallen.”
Some of the men began to talk quietly to each other, glancing over towards Sgt. Warner, who didn’t say anything but never let his gaze waver from the officer briefing them.
Lt. Stevens sighed, he was twenty-two and fresh out of officer school when The Night occurred. This was not what he had in mind when he joined. He figured eight to twelve years in service with a few tours overseas, then move into politics. He was a realist. President and senator were out of his league, but maybe someday he could have been a congressman. The zombies derailed all that. In six months his dreams were shattered. Now he spent every day trying to keep himself and his men alive. Niagara Falls seemed almost too easy, especially compared to Pittsburgh.
Now this.
Why did his guys have to be the ones? Pittsburgh was still too fresh a wound and now they were guinea pigs. He wished Capt. Blake was here, he always knew what the men needed to hear and how they needed to hear it.
The murmurs of conversation got louder; Lt. Stevens raised his hand and everyone fell silent. “I know some of you must be thinking the same thing I did when I heard this. Why go through an already dead city when we can go around it?” A few marines nodded in agreement but kept silent. “President Lansing is pushing the joint chiefs and we are the test case. We are going to rescue the survivors on Grand Island.”
The men were no longer silent. A few of them muttered under their breath. Lt. Stevens heard “this is bullshit” and “what the fuck” a few times before he silenced his men once more.
“Now is not the time to debate if this is good or bad. Now is the time to act like the marines you are and go save your fellow Americans.
“Messages have been sent out via text and email to everyone registered on Grand Island; instructions have also been playing on the emergency broadcast radio and television stations. We’ve been in contact with a group at Grand Island High School. They say they have sixty survivors there and we have to be prepared for more to arrive. Make sure you are firing at zombies and not humans. Understood? Our first four squads have to hold the perimeter of the school until 0810 when the transports arrive. At 0825 we are gone. Fifteen minutes to load is all they get. Not a minute more.”
He looked over the men. They went from stunned to frustrated and Lt. Stevens understood why.
Since day one of the outbreak, President Lansing made it very clear that there were not enough resources to try any kind of rescue mission. The military was having a hard enough time keeping the zombies at bay and the country under control; they didn’t need the pressure of having to go rescue every person or group that called for help.
He knew they really didn’t like the fact that they had to look before they shoot. For the last six months it had been ‘shoot anything coming at you.’ That’s a tough habit to break. A fresh Z could move and react like a normal human, and waiting that extra second could get you killed. It was a harsh reality, but if you got caught in the crossfire, it was your own damn fault.
Lt. Stevens surveyed his men, making eye contact with as many as he could. “Another challenge has been placed upon us and once again we will step up. All squads will report to the motor pool at 0530 for final briefing. Dismissed.”
***
Eight Humvees crossed the Grand Island Bridge at 0700 on October 13, six months after The Night. The sun was up but the day was overcast. Warner hoped it wouldn’t start to rain. Some guys loved to fight in weather like this but he couldn’t understand why. Give me a nice sunny day and a tall building to shoot some Zs, he thought. He looked in the rearview mirror at the seven vehicles behind him, taking up both lanes of the highway. There were fewer abandoned cars littered about than he expected, and Corporal Johnson, his longest tenured squadmate, picked up speed, making good time moving through them. Private first class Richardson was in the turret above, scanning the roadsides for any movement. He was a good kid, only eighteen, eager and always willing to help.
Warner was lost in thought when the radio crackled to life. “They are coming in b
ehind us. Gonna be way behind us but there must be at least a few hundred. Huge pack of them. I doubt they will be able to get to the school before the transports arrive.”
Warner recognized Mendelson’s voice and snapped back to reality. He silently chastised himself for letting his guard down for the moment.
His reply was simple, “Roger that, Staff Sergeant Mendelson. One less horde to worry about.”
Warner looked up. Some of the clouds were beginning to clear and he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He grabbed the radio in the vehicle and switched to the emergency frequency that the survivors were on. “This is Sgt. David Warner of the United States Marine Corps. We are five minutes away from your location. Have your men at the south fence entrance to let us in. There are eight Humvees inbound. Do you copy?”
“We copy, Sergeant. We’ll have two men standing by at the fence. Be advised our spotters on the roof are seeing heavy activity from all directions. It seems as though all the noise alerted the Zs to your presence.”
Warner paused. Everyone knew they would be drawing every zombie on the island to them but the real question was how many were there? “What exactly do you call heavy activity?”
“Stand by, Sergeant.” Less than a minute later Warner got his answer. “Minimum of fifty of them from each direction. I’m sure there are more coming.”
“Roger that. I will let my men know. Who am I speaking with? Are you in charge there?”
“This is Marcus Nixon. Yes, I’m in charge here as much as anybody is, Sergeant.”
“Roger, Mr. Nixon. See you in four minutes.”
Johnson waited for the sergeant to finish and then spoke. “At least they let us load up with ammo. Looks like we’re going to need it. If there are any other survivors, I don’t know how they will be able to get to us if we bring the zombies to our position.”
Warner looked at his friend driving. “I was thinking the same thing. I don’t honestly know if President Lansing and the joint chiefs got this one right.”
He never second-guessed orders with someone of a lesser rank and immediately regretted doing it. But this was a bad idea, a poor plan thrown together too quickly. Everyone knew it, but no one said it. He hoped they all could make it out alive and learn from the mistakes that were being made.
Warner keyed the mic. “Got some intel from the school. We’ve got about two hundred Zs coming in from all directions. It looks like we should get to the fence line before they do. All squads but 7th will double-time to the roof and start picking them off. We’ll have about seventy-five minutes till the cavalry arrives and we can get out of here. 7th will get survivors ready for evac. Everyone, roger up.”
The last “roger” from the seven radios crackled as Johnson pulled off the exit and started towards the school. He slowed down to twenty-five miles per hour as the streets got harder to navigate. Deserted vehicles, fallen tree limbs, strewn furniture, and other random debris littered the road. The school was a little over a mile off the highway through a residential neighborhood. His marines were ready, each of them focused on their tasks.
The neglected streets and lawns were covered with autumn leaves. Johnson was driving too fast for Warner to be able to see if there were any tracks or unnatural disturbances in the foliage. Windows and doors were broken on many of the houses. Too many houses. A closed-off island, trapping twenty thousand civilians turned zombies. Fuck, this is going to be a blood bath.
Warner breathed out slowly as he scanned in front of the Humvee. “Where are you, bast—” The last word was cut off by the burst of the .50 cal. on top of his Humvee. Richardson was letting rounds fly. Warner snapped his head to the right, just in time to see the house they passed being riddled with bullets as zombies came out from behind it. More poured out and Richardson kept firing even as the Humvee pulled away from them. Within moments all the marines reacted. Warner’s radio popped to life.
“Three o’clock! Three o’clock!”
“Roger. Roger. Shit!”
The .50 cals sliced the morning. Still loaded with tracer rounds, you could barely see the trail as they tore into zombies and houses alike.
“Jesus, there are a lot of those bastards!”
“They are coming from behind the houses. Where are they all hiding back there?”
All the men in the turrets had their mics locked open. It was the job of the sergeants inside the Humvees to keep track of which of their squad was saying what, everything was being recorded so headquarters could play it back later for further insight into the mission.
“Shit, six and nine now. You might want to speed the hell up and stay ahead of these guys.”
“What? You don’t like all this target practice?”
“Lock it down, guys. Stay sharp,” Warner said.
Zombies were being shredded at an amazing rate. Even though the marines weren’t going for headshots with the .50 cals, they were getting quite a few. A round that size would render an arm or leg useless if not blow it off. It wouldn’t kill the zombies but it would slow them up enough where the soldiers and survivors would be on the way to Buffalo before they made it to the school.
Johnson made the last turn and was on the road heading towards Grand Island High School, to fifty people who had spent the last six months fighting off Zs with no support from anyone. He took a quick glance in his rearview mirror where the road was heavy with smoke from the machine guns and the street was a mess of rotting flesh and coagulated blood. Johnson turned his attention back towards the front just in time to see a lone zombie in the middle of the road. He heard Richardson curse and knew the kid wasn’t in position for a shot.
The world slowed around Johnson, everything becoming sharp. Deathly quiet. The zombie lunged towards the Humvee, its mouth opened, and he could almost hear the growl escape from it. There was still some white in the zombie’s eyes. This one was fresh, probably less than a couple days turned.
Johnson slammed on the gas pedal, his eyes locked on the twisted creature that was once human. The Humvee slammed into the zombie and it exploded over the windshield and around the front of the vehicle. Richardson’s stream of curse words echoed somewhere in the back of his brain as the world returned to normal speed.
The road ahead was clear. “Must have kept it clean for better spotting. Smart move,” Johnson said into his radio to anyone who was listening, already moving on from a moment that would shake most men to their core. He looked in his mirror as all eight Humvees sped down the now deserted road. Even though he couldn’t see the zombies, they were still behind them and they weren’t going to stop because the marines had a head start.
Two people opened the gates so Johnson could pull through. The twelve-foot high chain-link fence had no extra bracing or support. If the marines couldn’t hold the Zs back, the barricade around the school wouldn’t be of any help. It’s going to be a long seventy minutes, Johnson thought as he stopped his vehicle.
Warner was already out and assessing the situation as the last Humvee pulled in and they closed the gate. He looked at the last vehicle of his convoy, covered in what could best be described as muck. Chunks of flesh and bone were smashed into the grille and thick blood smeared the tires. The clouds broke and streaks of sunlight raked the ground and vehicles. The stench of rotting flesh washed over him. It was a smell that every soldier knew, and if you couldn’t handle it, you were yanked off the front lines for your own safety.
Warner turned and a middle-aged man with a blonde buzz cut and sharp blue eyes approached him. “You must be Mr. Nixon,” Warner kept his voice calm. Years in the field trained him to appear that way no matter how he felt inside.
“Call me Marcus, please. What can we do to help?”
“Let me finish getting everything situated out here and we’ll meet you inside. Leave one of your men who can take us to you. I’ll see you in a couple of minutes.”
“Jonas will stay with you,” he said. “Thank you for coming.” He turned and headed inside with the rest o
f his men.
Warner focused on the situation outside the school. Even though there were men of higher rank, Capt. Blake placed Warner in charge until the recovery team arrived. The marines had their packs and rifles ready, awaiting orders. They looked at him and scanned the area, shifting where they stood. There was no banter among the men, an air of anxious readiness waiting for the inevitable. The lack of chatter amongst the men worried Warner. This was new territory for all of them and he was the one that had to make sure everyone made it through this operation.
“Staff Sergeant Mendelson, take 2nd and 4th squads up to the roof. Let’s go a bit heavy on the south side. Only take a clean shot. I have a feeling we are going to end up really tight on ammo before this is done. I’d rather let them get a bit closer before you blow their heads off than further away and you miss.
“Ham 1 will lead Richardson, Ham 2, and 7th squad. They will stay here and get ready for our friends coming down the road. We might have ten minutes before they drag their way here. Johnson will stay with me to assist in the school.”
Warner turned to Jonas. The kid looked like your average athletic teenager still growing into his body, maybe seventeen, and probably ran cross-country or played tennis. “Jonas, tell the men how to get up to the rooftop. Also, get on that radio and let them know that my guys are in charge when they get up there. No questions. We know you have held your own here, but we brought the entire island with us and we don’t have time to explain our actions. They’ll need to follow orders.”
Jonas quickly went to relay everything he was told. Warner noted the kid didn’t question him, so far so good.
He turned back to the marines left with him, “Ham 1, open the gates and get four of the Humvees in a semi-circle at the perimeter leaving enough room for them to back in quickly. I want one man in the turret and one firing from behind the door so they can slide into the driver’s seat and get them back inside the fence if needed. Take the other four vehicles and put one at the east door, one on the west door, and two by the main doors on the north side of the school. Ham 2, you will act as a spotter for them from that second-floor window. Everybody double-time it and get ready for the fun to begin.”
The Night Page 8