A short nod and “Aye, aye, Sergeant” was all Warner got and needed. Ham 1 was off directing the men. The fence gates swung open. Probably for the last time no matter how this ended. The Humvees started pulling out.
Warner turned to Jonas and heard a couple gunshots from the other side of the roof. It didn’t sound like an M-16 or an M-4. It must be some of the survivors taking potshots. No way they were that close yet. They couldn’t be, could they?
“All right, Jonas, let’s go, we don’t have any time to waste.”
The two marines followed behind Jonas. Warner took in the surroundings as they navigated the first floor of the school. The building was clean and the rooms on this floor were being used for storage and supplies. Warner noticed how organized things were. They passed one room filled with wooden pieces from desks and another room held the metal frames. He had a feeling the rest of the school was kept the same way. Marcus seemed to have his people preparing for the long haul. This was a far cry from some of the rat-infested places he passed through in the last few months.
They turned one more corner and followed Jonas into the cafeteria. The windows were blacked out and boarded up, most of the chairs had been removed. Numerous tables had been pushed together and were covered with maps. There were markings on them in different colors but Warner could only guess what they all meant. Marcus stood there with five other men. They looked a bit haggard, but still seemed in good health. Warner got a better look at their leader now. He was the biggest of the men, a few inches taller than any of them, and he reminded Warner of a middle linebacker. He looked imposing and had an air and intensity to match. From what the marine had seen so far, Marcus must have some form of training either in the military or possibly the police. He was certainly a leader of some sort. If everything else about this place is as good as what I’ve seen so far, we might make it out.
Marcus stepped forward. “I hope that we all may exchange proper greetings and introductions soon, but now isn’t the time. You tell us what we need to do and how we can help and I will make it happen, Sgt. Warner.”
Someone in the position that Marcus has been in could easily be offended by me coming in and taking charge, but he isn’t. Marcus played it perfectly. With one sentence he let his men know that we were in command and he was okay with that. They have put their lives in his hands for the last six months and now they are in ours.
“Thank you, Marcus,” Warner began, “First, get all your people in the library. I’m sure everyone has bags packed, but I need you to make sure that whatever they have they can run with. Backpacks only. They need to move as fast as they can when they are told to go. We will take care of all the basic needs once we get to Buffalo. Second, get everyone you trust a firearm of some kind and make sure it is fully loaded. Tell them that if they run out of ammo, do not stop to reload. Keep running for the transports. Our guys will cover them. Third, tell the families to stay together from here on out. When we say it’s time to go, we’re going. We can’t afford anyone looking for a child at that point.” Warner paused and looked at Marcus. The man nodded and two of his men left the room.
“Good. Now let’s get down to business.” Warner pulled his map out and put it on the table. “We came in from the south and hopefully a lot of our buddies came to see what all the noise was. The recovery team is going to come in from the north side.” He traced a slightly circuitous route with his finger from the highway to the school. “We are going to take you straight out the front door. I’m guessing you have it boarded and barricaded. How long will it take to undo it?”
“Thirty to forty-five minutes,” answered Nixon.
“We’ll wait until the transports are thirty-five minutes out then we’ll give the signal to start tearing down the barricades. We don’t want to make it any easier for the zombies to get in if things don’t quite go as planned. Send whoever you need there and tell them to stand by until they get your signal. Again, thirty-five minutes.” Warner paused and Marcus sent another of his men off with a nod. “How many people are here with you now?”
“Sixty including myself.”
“How many under the age of twelve and over sixty-five?”
“We have six children under twelve, and over sixty-five—” Nixon exhaled a long breath. “We have no one over sixty-five.”
Warner pressed on without pause. “Is there anyone that will need assistance getting from the school to the transport? Any severe injuries or ailments?”
“No, everyone is as healthy as they can be right now, all things considered.”
Everything matched up to what was told in the final briefing that morning. Once more he marveled at how organized and in control of the situation Marcus was. “How many of your men on the roof?”
“Eight.”
“How many of them have no family left here?”
Marcus thought before answering. “Only three of them.”
Now it was Warner’s turn to hesitate, contemplating what to do about the survivors up there. “Radio to the roof. Tell your men to come down and head to the library. Jonas will lead us up there and then meet back with you. Your group will be leaving all together when the transports arrive.”
Marcus opened his mouth to say something but Warner cut him off. “Get to the library and get everyone ready to go. I will radio you when I want your men to start on the door.”
That’s when they heard gunfire. One shot, then another two in quick succession. From the sound, Warner knew it was his men firing. He looked at his watch. One hour.
Sixty minutes.
He hoped they could hold for that long.
“Jonas, get us up to the roof.”
***
The door opened to the third floor. The only gunfire came from above them. Not hearing anything from ground level was a good sign. As long as the Humvees weren’t firing it meant the zombies were still being kept in check and silence on the radio meant his men were comfortable with the situation.
Jonas led the marines along the school hallways. Warner looked in the open rooms. There were makeshift beds and dressers, clothes hanging wherever a hanger could be put, and toys were on the floor in some of the rooms. These rooms were people’s homes, or what they called home. For six months families lived together in a simple classroom. Not for the first time since The Night, Warner was amazed at how things had changed.
Jonas opened a door to a stairwell leading to the roof and went up. Warner made sure Jonas was up top and then turned to Johnson. “Radio Headquarters. Tell them the intel from the school is good. North side still looks like the best pickup point. We’ll need one helo to pick up twelve men from the roof. Also, tell them there is no way any other survivors are going to make it here. Have them broadcast the emergency evac plan on all monitored stations. Then get your ass up to the roof. I wouldn’t want you complaining I kept you out of the action when I take my lead back and you owe me a bottle.” Before Johnson could reply, the Humvees outside came to life.
Warner took the steps two at a time and was on the roof scanning the area in a few seconds. It was the ten marines and Jonas now. Marcus’ men must have taken another way off the roof since they didn’t pass them in the hallway. Jonas was on his belly, rifle in hand, squeezing the trigger, firing rounds on pace with the marines. Warner was about to tell Jonas to get to the library but knew it wouldn’t do any good. The kid made his choice.
Mendelson came over the radio, “I’ve got about fifty coming from the east side. Let’s get some fire on that first group, guys.”
Another voice cut in. “They’re pouring in from the south. All that commotion we made really drew them to us. Keep laying down fire.”
The mic kept a steady playback from his men in his ear. Warner was used to all the chatter and could pick out what he needed to and block out what he didn’t. The plan seemed to work like Command thought it would. The mass was coming from the south now, leaving the north relatively open for the transports to get to the front of the school. He went to the south
side where three of the men fired at will. Warner shook his head as he surveyed the scene, there were more coming then he expected. The Humvees below him, now in the fray, sent round after round downrange. The stench of decay and gunpowder began to fill the air.
Warner turned his attention to the east side where Mendelson, two of his Marines, and Jonas were covering the sports fields, and tennis and basketball courts. They were picking off zombies as fast as they came from the trees that lined the area. Everyone had their own zone of field to cover. It looked as though they even had Jonas dialed in on the plan too, no two shots ever went to the same zombie, no ammo wasted.
They were in prime fighting shape from six months of battling zombies. Their bodies had been pushed past the point of breaking and were now built back up and on constant alert, their senses honed, and they fought as though they were one person. Even kids like Richardson and the Hams were veterans beyond their age. Warner looked down just in time to see another head explode from the round of an M-16. Muck and mush of brain and skull splattered on the zombie coming up behind the first. A split second later that head was blown apart by another round from the roof.
When you hit a zombie that had been turned for a while, there was no splatter of red like when you hit a living creature. That was one of the few things the movies got wrong. It was more a grayish/blackish, foul-smelling ooze, a stench that dropped people to their knees vomiting, until you got used to it. The scent grew stronger from the field and the roads; it began to overpower the smell of gunpowder from the weapons all around him.
Warner put up his binoculars and looked south. Waves of them came from the highway and the side streets. Jesus, how many of these fuckers are on this island? What I wouldn’t give to have some air support right now.
He put the binoculars down. For the first time since he got to the roof he opened his mic. “How we looking on ammo, guys?”
The men from the Humvees started to respond immediately.
“About three quarters left.”
“Three-fourths left here, Sergeant.”
“Seventy-five percent to the good.”
“If Ham 1 would ever stop shooting long enough. Damn it, Ham! How can I give the sergeant an accurate count if you keep shooting! I think we are at seventy-five—no, wait, seventy-four. Ham, you’re killing me here! Wait, seventy-three.”
Warner cut him off. “Thanks, I got it,” he said, hoping his guys would still be able to joke at the end of this.
***
Warner felt Johnson step alongside him. “Everyone is standing by in the library waiting for the word to clear the door, Sergeant.”
“Copy that. So what do you think, Johnson? Are we going to make it out this time?”
“As long as the Humvees hold the south, I think we’ll be okay.”
Warner looked back at the corporal. He had asked that question numerous times to his friend and after making it out of each situation it became a joke between them. This time the answer was too serious. Johnson must be more nervous than he was letting on. Warner glanced at his watch. Fifty more minutes. To be fair, he was more nervous than he was letting on, too.
Mendelson’s voice cut into his ear. “Sergeant, you better look at this,” he said, his voice clinical. He was never one to overreact or downplay a situation. When he spoke, everyone listened. Warner turned and double-timed it with Johnson over to the northeast corner of the building where Mendelson stood.
Warner saw it before he reached the other marine, “Where the hell did they come from? What do you two think? About three hundred of them?”
“At least.”
“Yeah, about three hundred.”
They were on the other end of the street on the north side of the school. A pack that big was going to keep attracting more attention and grow even bigger.
“There is no way we can clear them out, plus the whole field, plus the mess in the south right now,” Warner paused. “Johnson, get to the library and make sure Nixon has his people ready to go. At the thirty-five-minute mark get them started on that door.” The sound of the gunfire seemed to be getting louder in his ears and for a brief second the situation almost overwhelmed him. It wasn’t panic or fear but a sense of foreboding. “Mendelson, you’re in charge. I’m going to grab Swanson and go take out that group using the Humvee parked by the east doors.”
Johnson handed Mendelson the radio that had a secure channel to headquarters on it, then wheeled around and ran over to grab Swanson. The kid was a crack gunner with heavy weapons and one of the best shots around when riding any kind of moving vehicle. He’d seen Swanson nail clean headshots while doing thirty-five over a bumpy field.
Warner barked over the gunfire, “You’re with me.” Swanson pushed himself up and followed Warner down the stairs without saying a word. When they got back to the third floor, Warner filled him in on the plan. “It’s you, me, a Hummer, and about three hundred of our closest zombie friends. You in?”
“I wouldn’t miss that kind of fun. The only question is: Who’s gonna drive?” He said with a smile.
The two marines ran out of the south door. The sound of the four Humvees that close together firing off rounds was deafening. They rounded the corner and sprinted alongside of the school to where the Humvee was left idling. Warner jumped into the driver’s seat and Swanson got behind the machine gun. Warner hit the gas and gunned the vehicle straight through the fence. The flimsy chain link didn’t matter anymore, if the zombies got that close, it would be such a mass of them it wouldn’t have held anyway. Forty-five minutes left. We have to hold the school.
He drove the Humvee down the little hill and cut hard left, heading toward the road, staying between the school and the basketball courts. The tires hit the pavement of the street and from above Swanson opened fire.
Warner heard the engine from the Humvee, the machine gun sending rounds toward their enemies, and the radio traffic from the other men. His well-trained ear began picking up the slight changes in tones and sounds that should and shouldn’t be. Everything was sharp and clear. Warner felt himself slipping into the perfect combat mode, the polar opposite of how he felt not even ten minutes ago.
He swung the steering wheel hard to the right and slammed on his brakes. He had to get this road cleared for the transports and now he was staring at hundreds of zombies fifty yards away. Swanson’s bullets sent chunks of zombie flesh everywhere. Round after round shredded dead skin and bone. He took out at least a dozen in the first couple of seconds.
The mob of zombies surged forward en masse and Warner hit the gas. Everything slowed and came into crystal focus. He watched two heads ripped from zombies a couple rows back, the bodies dropping and getting trampled as they kept coming at them. The Humvee was now to the leading edge of the horde. From the corner of his right eye he saw the first zombie hit the Humvee’s front bumper right near the corner on the passenger side. The zombie was almost torn in two and its chest cavity erupted on the hood as the rest spun off. He hit the next two zombies dead on and ran over both of them easily. Swanson’s bursts never slowed; he was taking them out at a blistering rate. As quick as Warner made it to them, he was through them.
Warner drove past them and hit the brakes hard jamming the steering wheel all the way to the left.
The Humvee sat facing the side street away from the school. The front and sides were slick with putrid flesh. The smell cut through Warner, but he was long past letting that bother him. His body was still locked in combat mode. They sliced a path through the zombies, but that still was only around fifty; not even a quarter of them. The zombies turned and started heading towards them. Swanson fired tight, controlled bursts. Warner waited, letting them get closer, teasing them. Getting their zombie brains to forget about the school, just that little Humvee in the middle of the road.
Twenty-five feet. Three more dropped.
Twenty feet. Another two.
Fifteen feet. Four this time.
Ten feet. The wretched stench was overpowerin
g now and another three exploded in front of him.
The Humvee jerked to life and started down the street.
Another small pack came out from behind a house off to their left.
“Shit! Fresh ones, Swanson! Look out!”
One of them managed to latch onto the hood, snarling and drooling, looking at Warner. Another couple bounced off the side as he sped through the suburbs. Warner could barely see with the zombie on the hood. It was a fresh one, having enough agility to hold on as Warner jerked the wheel as much as he dared, not wanting to slam into any cars still left on the street. The zombie’s mouth bit and growled at him viciously through the safety of the windshield. It reminded him of a rabid dog trying desperately to get at its prey.
It reared back its head and slammed it into the windshield. The zombie’s skull caved in a bit and the windshield cracked slightly. Warner swerved a bit harder, trying to shake the zombie free. Swanson still fired in the turret above, dropping zombies as fast as he could. Warner slammed his foot on the brakes and the zombie lost his grip, flying off. Swanson let out a loud grunt of pain as the sudden stop threw him against the metal of the turret.
The radio came alive in Warner’s ear. Swanson yelled, “GO! GO! GO!” The Humvee jerked roughly as Warner ran over the zombie he had loosed from it.
The radio was alive with chatter again, this time from the school.
“Where did they go?”
“I don’t see them anymore. Sgt. Warner, copy? Sgt. Warner, copy?”
“They went north on that first street. I can’t see them anymore.”
“Warner, Swanson, copy?”
“That whole pack went after them. Shit.”
Warner keyed his mic, “We’re still here guys, just a bit busy.” He swung left along another suburban side street that looked like so many others he had been on before. House after house, zombie after zombie. Something in the engine of the Humvee started to grind and the alignment was off. Warner turned the steering wheel about twenty degrees to keep the vehicle straight. He hoped it would hold up. They had built up a lead on the pack behind them so he slowed to let the zombies catch back up to them.
The Night Page 9