The Night

by Steinwachs, Mark

  “Sergeant, I think I might have a problem here.”

  “What is it, Swanson?”

  “I … Oh, fuck. Shit. Shit. One of them got me.”

  The adrenaline in control of Warner stopped surging through him and his body went still, Swanson’s words echoing in his brain. Warner couldn’t stop. There wasn’t enough time to get the kid out and, and …

  He turned at the next street and started back towards the school. Warner keyed his mic, “Mend, they got Swanson. I can’t get him out and I can’t stop. I’m going to come in at the north side of the school and loop back around behind the pack. I need you to take out Swa … I need you to take out the fucking zombie on my Humvee. Copy?”

  “You have a zombie on your Humvee? Say again. You have a zombie on your Humvee?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, a zombie.”

  A quiet voice pierced everyone's radios, “Sorry, guys. Be safe out there.”

  Warner made the last turn and drove past the school.

  He spent the next ten minutes driving all over the neighborhood picking up as many zombies as he could, a modern day Pied Piper. His Humvee still held together but the grinding under him was getting worse, his steering wheel started shaking as the alignment worsened.

  He heard all the radio traffic. Johnson had the men at the door getting it ready. The rooftop and south entrance seemed to be holding, although consensus was that ammo was going to be really tight.

  Another left, a right, left again. Warner was trying to figure out how he was going to get back to the school without driving straight back, bringing his Pied Piper pack of zombies with him.

  “Mend?”

  “Yeah, go, Warner.”

  “Okay, I’ve got it figured out. I’m going to get a lead on these guys, hop out two blocks from the school and blow this thing to hell. Hopefully that will keep the Zs distracted until the transports get here. Then I’m going to hightail it back on foot. I’m gonna come right through that intersection where I turned on the first pass through the pack, make a beeline for the opening in the fence, get back in the school, and then probably have a heart attack. Copy?”

  “Roger that. Keep your mic open and let us know where you are. We’re all pretty itchy up here.”

  Warner made the last turn, scanned the area, and hopped out. He looked at his grime-covered vehicle. Mud, flesh, and bits of bone all over the entire … he looked up and saw the red blood on the side and a bit of the body in view.

  Warner shook his head. He made sure to give himself enough time to get ready and heaved the spare gas can and a couple grenades into the turret. He kept two on him and waited. The first few zombies turned the corner and charged at him. Warner stood still, letting a few seconds pass. A bigger mass of them came around the corner and Warner pulled the pins on his grenades and tossed them in the turret. He spun and ran back towards the school. Warner counted down in his head and heard the grenades go off. He kept sprinting, hoping his plan worked. He felt the second explosion rattle his body and he stumbled but didn’t fall. Warner pushed forward not caring to look back at the scene behind him. If his plan didn’t work he would know soon enough.

  All he had on him now was his pistol, which was great for running but nowhere near as good if he ran into any zombies. He sprinted, zig-zagging through a few streets trying to lose any zombies that may still be following him. One more turn and he saw the school. “Coming in from the north side now,” he panted out.

  His legs carried him across the street and to the sidewalk before the undead in the field sniffed him out. They all turned and took off towards him. Some of them were fresh and fast. Warner guessed he had about a hundred yards to the hole in the fence. Thank god zombies don’t know how to cut down angles. I’m actually going to make it.

  Bullets hit their targets around him and zombies dropped from the corners of his vision.

  Another twenty yards to the doors. He gasped for breath but kept going.

  Out of nowhere a zombie leapt at him from his left. Warner spun his body to deflect the blow and kicked his legs out, pretending to slide into second base, as he had done so many times in high school. He felt the creature glance off his shoulder and saw it roll to the ground past him.

  The world blurred as Warner let his body finish the spin. He ended on his left side looking at the zombie preparing to lunge at him. His pistol came up and let loose a round. The shot pounded into the creature’s chest, knocking it back. Two more rounds, this time from the school, pounded into the zombie, one hit its shoulder and the other its chest. Warner rolled himself away.

  He didn’t wait to see if anyone finished it off and scrambled to his feet, making one last push to the door. His right ankle sent bursts of pain up his leg each time he came down on it. Rounds continued to pepper around him, the marines above concentrating their fire to keep him safe.

  Blackness lined the edge of his vision as his body fought against the pain A few more steps and he would be there.

  The door opened and he burst through. Warner took three more strides and his body bounced off the wall as he collapsed in the hallway. He gasped for breath, coughing, waiting to feel the zombie on him, tearing into his flesh, but it never came.

  Warner rolled onto his back and looked up, his chest still racked by spasms as his body tried to recover. Jonas rammed the metal bar back in place, securing the door, then stepped in front of Warner, “Staff Sergeant Mendelson sent me to get you.” The kid put his hand out and helped Warner to his feet. The marine took a cautious step on his ankle. Pain arced through him again but not enough to drop him to the ground. Sprained but not broken. He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes.

  Warner started heading back to the roof with Jonas in tow. Even though he was spent from the run and his ankle was throbbing, he took the stairs two at a time. The same sense of foreboding came crashing over him. Something about being trapped in this building, about this situation, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but being here was going to end up all bad. He glanced at his watch again and grimaced. Still too long. “I’m almost back to the roof. Status report everyone.”

  “Ten minutes left on the door. We’ll be ready.”

  “Rooftop holding. Ammo to about 20 percent. It’s going to be real close, Sergeant. Still heavy from the east and south. West is pretty quiet, all things. And the north is looking clean, thanks to you.”

  Warner heard the guns blazing from the Humvees through the mics as the guys on the ground started reporting in.

  “Heavy isn’t the word I would use here.”

  “I don’t like how close our friends are getting. Ammo is to a quarter.”

  “Same here.”

  “Yeah, twenty-five here too.”

  “This isn’t looking good, Sergeant.”

  “Roger that,” Warner replied. He stepped on the black rooftop and the stench of battle hit him again. The smell of rot from the zombies mixed with gunpowder hadn’t been this strong since the last days of Pittsburgh. Warner headed to the south side of the roof first.

  “When you guys said close, no one said how close.” The word ‘shit’ flared in his mind but never escaped his lips. There was a mass of bodies covering the whole block where they drove in from not an hour ago. The zombies were crawling over their dead comrades and getting closer to the school.

  “Ham 2, grab the Hummer from the west and get it into some kind of firing position. We need more rounds downrange. Keep far enough away that you can get back in the driver’s seat and get out if I give the word. If they gain another ten feet, let me know.”

  Fucking hell, we must have brought the whole island down on us. He didn’t have a plan yet, but he bought himself a few precious minutes. He spun around and went to check the field.

  They kept coming. Round after round, hit after hit, it didn’t matter. The marines were losing the battle. There were a couple headless corpses within a few feet of the fence. Warner heard the moans from below. It was Pittsburgh all over again, and this time he didn’t know how th
ey would get out. Too close, they are too close.

  The sound Ham 2 firing from his Humvee pulled Warner back from his thoughts. Ham 2 was firing as fast as he could, not trying to conserve ammo like the other four who let off short bursts. Minutes ticked off, too slowly for Warner’s liking.

  “Door all clear,” Warner heard Johnson’s voice in his earpiece. He looked at his watch: he wasn’t sure if time was his friend or his enemy now. Seven minutes. Just another seven minutes and they would get the help they badly needed. They had to hold out that long.

  “Ten feet! Ten feet!”

  “Ten, ten, ten!”

  “Copy that, guys. Stay steady. Stand by for orders,” Warner replied. He grabbed his other radio back from Mendelson and clicked the mic. “Capt. Blake, Sgt. Warner here. What is the ETA of our air support and transports, Sir?”

  The radio crackled back. “Three minutes till air, and as long as the roads are clear, we are five minutes out in the transports.”

  “Roger that, Sir. See you at the north side entrance in five minutes.” He hooked the second radio on his harness and went back to the first. “Three minutes till we get our air support, marines. Transports in five. Just three more minutes.”

  “I don’t think we have three minutes here, Sergeant. I’m out of ammo.”

  “Shit! I’m out too!”

  “I’m on my way. Everyone but Mend get over to the south side. Cover them. Mend, your call if you need help for the transports.” Warner barked as he sprinted from the rooftop, “Jonas, you’re with me. Get to your supplies and grab two full gas cans, then head to the Humvees. You’ve got one minute. Move it!”

  Warner was practically leaping down entire flights of stairs, he no longer felt the pain in his ankle and wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. All he cared about now was getting to his men, he only hoped he could pull his plan off quick enough to keep that horde at bay.

  “Richardson, Ham 1, get the spare fuel tanks off and start dousing your hummers.” Warner’s voice was cracked and ragged from the running and yelling over the last hour. “Ham 2, keep those guys covered for another thirty seconds, marine.” Warner hit the bottom floor and was almost to the door when he heard the calls.

  “I’m out! I’m out!”

  “That’s all folks. No more here either. Fuck me!”

  “I can’t hold them any longer,” came an anguished call from Ham 2, his voice almost drowned out by his gun.

  “Fall back! Fall back! Richardson, light those things up. Do it! Now!” Warner pushed the door open at the same time Richardson dropped his lit Zippo onto the gas in front of him. The other marines began to rush by Warner into the school.

  Warner yelled for Richardson but the marine stood his ground, focused on the trails of fire rushing to the Humvees. One started to burn, then another. Rounds from the roof rained down in front of the vehicles.

  Warner called out once more, screaming over the violence around him. Richardson turned and headed for the door, the marine standing out from the fiery carnage behind him.

  The first Humvee exploded, its shockwave knocked Richardson to the ground. Warner stood his ground as he felt the heat sear him. Zombies began to break through the wall of fire.

  Warner leveled his pistol.

  One zombie.

  Two.

  His third shot missed but someone up top got it.

  Richardson started to push himself up. Three more zombies burst through, their skin melting off as they lunged towards the fallen marine.

  Warner got one.

  Another one dropped right after.

  The third one landed on Richardson. The zombie grabbed the marine and bit into his face. Warner heard Richardson’s last scream.

  The sergeant’s first bullet took out Richardson, and the second finished off the zombie.

  Two gas cans came flying out of the second story window, hit the fire, and exploded. Warner stumbled back into the hall of the school, looking out across the carnage. Half the fence area on the south side was engulfed in flames. The wreckage of what were once Humvees looked like giant fireballs. The smell of burned and melting flesh began to dominate. Warner only hoped it was enough.

  The other marines regrouped and were back at the door, taking positions with their M-16s at the ready. With ease that comes from practice Warner wished they didn’t have, the marines got into their defensive position, everyone finding their firing lane. A zombie burst through the fire, its skin melting and dripping, and was felled in an instant. Then another came through. A third.

  “Ham 2, get with Johnson and the civilians,” Warner barked over the radio. He hoped Ham 2 had made it back through the doors on the west side. “Help them get to the transports. Johnson, status report.”

  “The library is clear, Sergeant. Standing by at the doors waiting for the go signal.”

  Zombies number four and five dropped.

  “Roger that. You’re in charge of getting them loaded,” Warner said. Zombies six, seven, eight.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Warner’s gravelly voice ordered, “Mend, move everyone to the north side as soon as the transports arrive and lay down covering fire. We’ll hold them off here as long as we can.”

  A split second before they were in sight, he heard them. The Cobras fired their rockets. Warner watched the munitions impact in the field and street around them. A newer version of napalm, Nape as it was called now, lit up the fields around the school. The heat was unbearable. It didn’t take an order from Warner for everyone to fall back into the school. All the marines dashed through the halls to meet the transports, the ground shaking as a few more rockets hit the ground. Warner called for Mendelson to get his men off the roof and get to the transports. He turned the corner as the first civilian was being ushered out.

  Warner made sure all the survivors were loaded before he sent his men. When they were out, Warner walked out of the school. He stopped, looking around. The noise from the helos was deafening, the fire from the Nape burned viciously, two Cobras crisscrossed laying cover fire. What few zombies he could see through the fire exploded as the bullets from the helos mowed them down.

  Warner got on the transport, the last human to have set foot on Grand Island, New York.

  The caravan drove down the highway, crossing over the Grand Island Bridge, heading towards Buffalo. Behind them the bombers flew over and let their payload free. Everyone in the transports heard the explosions and felt the earth tremble from the destruction of an entire island by the United States military.

  None of the marines looked back. They didn’t care. They were the first military unit to attempt a rescue mission since The Night. It was a flawed mission where two good men died.

  Sergeant Warner leaned his head back, preparing for the questions and debriefings.

  The Dance

  After the first few months things settled into an eerie calm across the country. People began to find a new routine in the world around them. There was a feeling of acceptance of the hand that they were dealt. Things like rations, curfews, and government control had been happening for centuries with nations that had risen and fallen. The American people were no different than others. They adapted and changed. That is what humans do.

  There was a difference between then and now. Technology. The speed of the world had altered our makeup.

  It was too easy for people to see the things that were missing. Missing led to wanting. No one realized what was happening at the time, but when we look back, it’s easy to spot. It didn’t have to do with disobeying an oppressive government. It was about wanting to go back. To live your life for those who no longer had one.

  Excerpt from “The Decade”

  Dr. Rudolph Graham

  The synthed piano lines rose over him as the bass thumped in his chest, his body moving in time with the beat. The swell built ever higher. All over the warehouse hands lifted to the air, whistles cut through the music, signaling their own pleasure. Lights spun and colors swirled around him. Sound awoke his soul. The
DJ carried him to new heights. The mass of dancers cheered; more whistles called out. Glowsticks slashed arcs of light. When he thought he could take no more, the swell crested and cascaded around him. The building was alive with the power of those dancing within.

  He opened his eyes and there she was. Her bright green glowsticks slowly glided around her body as she moved with the drop in the track, the rumble of the bass gone, synth lines melding perfectly. He stopped moving, locked on her. She turned, her hands twirling around her body, green trails of light showing off her short, spiky blonde hair sticking up around her visor. Perfection.

  ***

  Jensen opened his eyes, his heart beating quickly in his chest. He lay there on his side of the bed, looking up to the ceiling. She was gone. He didn’t reach his hand over to her side of the bed anymore. He closed his eyes trying to get back to that place, that time when he first saw her. When she became his reason to be. She was gone. They got her. They killed her. The final fleeting images of the dream floated away from him. Jensen pushed the covers away and got out of bed, bracing himself for another day. Without Kerri.

  ***

  “Hey, Jence,” Drake, Jensen’s roommate and closest friend, said as he entered through the front door. “Thanks for making sure we still have power.” And gave Jensen his best ‘I’m trying to make you smile’ look. “Did you see the news today?”

  Jensen kicked his shoes off. “The news? Can I at least get in the door first?” He made a production of locking the door, then turned back to his friend sitting on the couch. “Hi, Drake. No, I haven’t seen the news. What’s up? And I’m fine, it was a great day, a zombie didn’t try to eat me. Thanks for asking.” Of course he smiled, Drake was the only person that could make him smile these days.

  Jensen cocked his head a bit, waiting for his friend to give him the daily news update. He thought about where they first met, a rave where Drake was running the lights. He never could have guessed how much more there was to the skinny guy behind the lighting desk.