by Sikes, AJ
They all look clean. For now.
A shriek tore Meg’s attention from the group for a moment, and she watched as a former friend of hers, now a monster, leaped from atop a car to tackle a man at the back of the line. With a shout, Meg ran forward, past the line of survivors making their way into the house. She lifted her axe as she ran and swung with all her strength, burying the axe head in the monster’s back just as it lowered its mouth to feed on the man it had brought down.
— 12 —
Elmhurst, Queens
The sun was climbing higher by the time Jed and the soldiers connected up with the military’s main element at Newtown High over in Elmhurst. Jed remembered lying in the middle of the track when him and Chips were stoned late at night, and sometimes running laps on it during the day when they did show up for gym class. Now the track and ball fields were a motor pool and command point. They’d come in with Humvees and some old open-bed trucks, and even a Bradley. Tents were going up in between lines of vehicles, and patrols of twos and threes walked the fence line with their weapons up and at the ready.
“Fuck me,” Jed said.
“Yeah, man,” said one of the soldiers next to him. “Shit’s on with a vengeance.”
“All this for some zombies?”
The soldier looked at Jed like he was crazy. “They ain’t zombies, brother. I don’t know who told you that, but— Believe it. Fuckin’ monsters out there. Zombies would be easy as the BRM range, all slow and shit. You’d hit ’em at two hundred meters, no problem. These fuckers, man you got lucky back there. I seen just two of them tear into a whole squad. They took out the SAW gunner first, like they knew he was the big threat. I swear. They ain’t zombies. Zombies don’t think or plan their attack.”
Jed’s eyes went wide at that and he kept quiet for the rest of the ride. Finally, they pulled up beside an idling Humvee and the sergeant by the tailgate told everyone to dismount. The soldiers hopped off and moved out to the ball fields where a platoon was lining up in formation. Jed jumped down with the soldier who’d talked to him. The guy gave him a nod and jogged off to join the formation. Jed figured he should follow, but another NCO, some thin Asian dude, came around the truck and put a hand on Jed’s arm, holding him back.
“You got a name there, Hardcore?”
“Jed. I mean— Welch, Sergeant. My name’s Welch. Private Welch, USMC.”
The guy blinked once, and stared at Jed like he’d spoken a foreign language. He didn’t believe him. Jed could tell. But it was the only play he had right now.
“Marines are out in the field mopping up. What’s with the civvie gear and the gat stuffed in your pants?”
The sergeant was at least an E-6. Jed didn’t know Army rank that well, but he knew authority when he heard it, no matter how many stripes it had on.
“I’m home from Iraq, Sergeant. Just got back. I was hit—”
“Uh-huh. How about you hand over the gat and we talk to the First Sergeant about connecting you with your actual.”
Jed had to resist the urge to pull the Glock on the man. He’d be taken out in two seconds if he tried anything. But he wasn’t going to give up his gat. Not that easy.
“I have more in my pack, Sergeant. All from home. I figured they could be useful with the zombies—”
The sergeant busted out laughing but pulled it back in just as fast. He gave Jed a hard stare and jerked his chin up, motioning for Jed to get moving. “Let’s go, Hardcore Jed Welch. You and your sack full of guns. First Sergeant’s tent is that way.”
Jed turned and walked toward the tent across the ball field. He could feel the NCO behind him, and heard the man’s battle rattle shift as he lifted his weapon up to carry it at the ready.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
If it went the way he knew it would, Jed was about to lose his Glock and all his ammo, plus any chance he had of getting away alive. They’d put him back with some fucking Marine unit and he’d be back in the suck like he’d never left. What the fuck was he gonna do?
The tent flap up ahead flicked aside and a man stepped out wearing a clean ACU. Jed looked at the other soldiers he could see and realized they all had brand new gear on. The more he thought about it, the more Jed knew that none of these dudes had seen combat. None of ’em, except for maybe the NCO behind him. He had an M4. But all the other guys he’d seen were carrying M16s.
They got up to the First Sergeant and the NCO behind Jed told him to stop. Without thinking, Jed felt his arms moving so his hands snapped up at the small of his back. His legs straightened about shoulder-width apart and he stared straight ahead, holding his chin level.
“First Sergeant Oguein,” the NCO said from behind him. “This man here claims to be a Marine, just home from Iraq. Says he was hit, but I don’t—”
“What’s your name, son?” the First Sergeant asked Jed, looking him right in the eye. The man had black eyes, and a thin mustache. He stood a little shorter than Jed and was heavier around the middle.
“Private Welch, First Sergeant,” Jed said. “I was with—”
“You’re with the 401st Civil Affairs now, Private Welch. Sergeant Boon will take you to the Quartermaster for your ACUs and then to the armory for a weapon. You can keep your sidearm. Sergeant Boon, make sure he gets holster for it. We don’t need any AD injuries.”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
Jed felt a hand on his shoulder, prodding him to move. He relaxed his posture and fell into step beside the NCO as they left the First Sergeant’s presence.
“That was good, man. Real good,” Sergeant Boon said.
Jed didn’t want to say anything, but he knew he should. So he grunted the universal term that every Marine knows and says more than a hundred times a day.
“’Rah, Sergeant.”
“Yeah,” Sergeant Boon said. “Real good.”
Jed could tell the man didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. But who the fuck cared. He wasn’t going back to the suck. He could probably count on getting through this shit okay.
Sergeant Boon led him to a tent on the other side of the ball fields. Trucks and Humvees kept circling around the track and pulling into a formation like they were getting ready to convoy into the neighborhoods.
Inside the Quartermaster’s tent, Sergeant Boon hung off to the side while Jed got his new uniform. The Quartermaster was a short white dude with red peachfuzz on his top lip and more pimples than Jed had ever seen on anyone’s face before. Guy looked like fucking Freddy Krueger. He passed over a pile of clothing and lifted a pair of boots up from a box. The zit-faced guy looked at Jed like he was just some green recruit off the block.
“You a 10 or 10-wide?” he asked, holding out the uniform.
“Yeah,” Jed said, accepting the camouflage pants and shirt. “10-wide.”
“Yeah?” the dude asked, pushing the boots at Jed. “Your recruiter tell you to say that?”
Jed almost shot back at the dude about how fucked up his face was, but then he noticed the two stripes on the guy’s chest tab.
“Yes, Corporal. I mean, no, Corporal,” he said, moving into parade rest again with one arm behind his back and the other tucked against his side holding the uniform. He stood sharp, but not as sharp as when he was talking to the First Sergeant.
“Get dressed, Hardcore Jed Welch,” Sergeant Boon said. “You got one minute.”
Jed mumbled Rah this time, and nodded without looking at Sergeant Boon or Corporal McZits. He dropped his pack and stripped out of his clothes in a hurry, making sure to keep his left side exposed and lifting his arm so he could show off his battle scar to Sergeant Boon.
If the guy saw it, he either wasn’t impressed or decided Jed was all right after all and just didn’t want to say anything. Jed could almost feel the hatred coming off both of them as carefully lifted his Glock out of his waistband and laid it on top of his backpack on the ground. Then he kicked off his work boots, dropped his pants, and slipped into the ACU like it was a second skin.
&nbs
p; Sergeant Boon coughed once, but didn’t say anything while Jed finished putting on his clothes. Corporal McZits dropped a full LBE beside Jed’s backpack and went back to getting uniforms and boots stacked up on a set of shelves at the back of the tent. When Jed finished tying on his boots, he picked up the harness and slid into it, clicking the belt clasps and checking the straps to make sure they fit tight enough. Then he came to attention. Sergeant Boon chuckled but gave him a nod that said he felt better about Jed now.
“Let’s go, Welch. Armory time. Bring your gat and the pack.”
Jed bent down and retrieved his Glock. He slung the pack over one shoulder and carried the pistol at his side with his fingers wrapped around the trigger guard.
At the armory tent, Sergeant Boon had Jed sign for an M16A2 and turn in his pack with the other guns. He got a holster and a box of 9mm ammo for the Glock, plus six more boxes for the M16.
“You can load up on the truck, Welch,” Sergeant Boon said. “We move out in fifteen.”
“Sergeant?” Jed asked, feeling less sure than he did before.
“Truck, Welch. The one outside, behind this tent. We have two platoons of National Guard here. They just got home last month. You can share war stories and compare scars.”
Jed didn’t miss the way Sergeant Boon’s mouth went from a frown to a shit-eating grin as he said the last few words. He nodded at Sergeant Boon and waited for the guy to give him the signal to leave. All he got was a wrinkled up sneer.
Outside the armory tent, Jed followed a line of soldiers marching to a truck that had just begun rumbling as the driver turned over the engine. A gust of diesel exhaust hit Jed’s mouth and he coughed, nearly gagging on the stink. He fucking hated military trucks, and the planes. They had to be designed by some motherfucker who got off making dudes sick before they even got in the damn things.
The line of soldiers in front of Jed came to a stop behind the truck. Jed fell in with them, at ease, looking at the line of uniforms like a bunch of trees all standing ready to get chopped down. Jed looked at his own uniform and remembered the money he had stuffed in his pants pocket.
“Fu—”
“Shut it down, Private,” the man next to him said. He was a black guy, and younger than Jed by maybe a few years. He had corporal stripes on his uniform, though, and he looked hard. Jed knew some rough dudes growing up, but this guy looked like a piece of steel got shoved up his ass and all it did was make him want more.
An NCO came up from around the truck and called them to attention. An LT showed up on the heels of the NCO. The officer gave his name, but Jed wasn’t listening. He couldn’t pay attention to anything the dude said because the shrieks and screams out in the neighborhoods started up right as the LT opened his mouth. Jed caught something about 57th Avenue, and Queens Boulevard.
Then it was everybody jumping through his own asshole, climbing into the truck. Someone yelled about having weapons up and out at the ready. Jed stuck his M16 over the side of the truck and scanned the area around them. All he could see were more trucks and soldiers running all over the fucking place. He heard screams and shouts echoing around the ball fields. Jed could swear he heard a Ma deuce busting out rounds from the other side of the fields.
The truck moved and lurched, making Jed sway. He’d knelt on the bench with one knee and kept the other foot on the truck bed behind him for support. The corporal was to Jed’s left and gave him a look. Jed ignored it and went back to looking out for the enemy. Whoever or whatever was out there, he had a real weapon now. It was shaking in his hands, and he tried to hide it so the other dudes wouldn’t see. He closed his eyes for a second and thought about Iraq, and the only patrol he’d ever done. His eyes snapped open and he knew he’d make it out of this okay. He held the rifle like it was the only thing keeping him alive, because that’s exactly what it was.
He’d make it out okay. He’d get back, even if some of these other dudes didn’t, and even if he had to take one or two of them out, like Chips’ brothers and their uncle. That’s what Jed would do to save his own skin, and that’s what he would always do.
Jed was gonna make it.
— 13 —
Upper East Side, Manhattan
Meg wrenched the axe out of the monster’s back and turned just in time to swing at another one. She didn’t recognize who it had been before, so it hurt only a little less when the axe head sank into the man’s chest. Meg searched the street for more of the monsters, but she didn’t see any. She heard them, though, and the screams they caused as they tore through storefronts and apartments nearby.
Eric was shouting at her to come back. Meg spared one last look at the dying city around her before she joined the line of survivors going into the house. She wiped at the blood and gore that coated her jacket front and went to brush her face shield when her hand stopped in mid air.
What if I’m infected?
“Eric!” she screamed at him as the last of the survivors, the only man left in the group, made it to the door. But Eric was already back inside somewhere, out of earshot. The male survivor was at the door, holding it open for Meg. The broken window in the door looked like an angry mouth full of jagged teeth ready to rip her skin to shreds.
“Are you coming?” the man asked her. He had dirt on his face, covering one side of his forehead and one cheek.
“Is that—” Meg started to ask, just as the man shook and his hands began to clutch at the air. His mouth opened and he let out a howl of pain as he fell to his knees and spasmed on the pavement. His arms and legs flailed and his screams forced an echo of terror into Meg’s ears. Still she ran toward him.
“Help me! I can’t see them! They’re everywhere! Help!”
Meg sank her axe into his skull, hearing the fatal crack of bone and feeling the blade crush through to the pavement. The man’s body twitched and went still.
Meg pulled her axe free and used the handle to push her face shield up. She spit to the side, over and over again, fearing she’d got even a drop of infected blood into her mouth somehow. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d swallowed some and would become a monster herself at any moment.
“Meg?” Rex said from the doorway. “Are you hurt? Did he bite you?”
Staring at Rex, Meg waited. She breathed deep and listened to her heart beat, the blood rushing in her ears, and the sounds of violence cascading around the city in every direction.
You’re okay. You’re good.
She knew she was okay. It was just her involuntary reflex.
Contaminated bodily fluids. You’re fine. You’re covered up.
“I’m fine, Rex,” she said, dropping her shield into place and stepping forward. Rex left the doorway so she could come into the house.
Rex had gone back to the app floor where Eric was setting up the survivors on the cots.
“Eric,” Meg said. “We need to wash out the chief’s office.”
He nodded and brought the hose over. While Meg held the broken door open, Eric sent a torrent of water into the office space, pushing as much blood and mess as he could out into the street. Papers and pens, the phone, the chief’s mug. All of it went out into the street.
It wasn’t anything close to real decontamination, but it would have to do. As a last step, Meg braced herself in the doorway while Eric sprayed her down, cleaning off the spatters of blood that decorated her jacket, trousers, and boots.
Back inside, Rex and Eric performed a quick triage of the survivors, sending anyone with blood on their clothing anywhere to join Meg.
To the survivors, Meg said, “We need to shower. Get cleaned off. If you were outside, and you’re not hurt, come with me. We need to decontaminate ourselves.”
She shivered when she thought about the stinging sensation that would come from using the disinfecting soaps they had, but it was necessary. Even one droplet of infected blood in the wrong place could mean disaster for everyone.
Nothing’s going to slow you down, Meg. Nothing at all.
R
ex finished shoving the dirty lockers in front of the doorway to the chief’s office while a line of five women and four children joined Meg at the stairs. The others, close to a dozen women of all ages and colors, huddled together at the back of the floor. Only one woman wearing a headscarf stayed near the cots, holding her baby close to her body. Meg could tell the woman was uncomfortable about the situation. Eric seemed to sense it, and with the firehose in his hands again, he approached the woman, staying a few steps back.
“Ma’am? Have you or your child come into contact with anybody who was infected? Have you touched—”
“Yes,” the woman almost shouted in reply before she broke into sobs.
“Ma’am, did—Was it someone who was infected? Did you get any blood on you?”
“No. But my husband was dead. I—I touched him,” the woman said, turning tear-stained eyes to Eric, then looking directly at Meg, as if she believed Meg could somehow help her. “I knew I should not, but—There is nowhere I can go to purify my body.”
Meg felt her heart clench inside. Tim had given up most of his traditional beliefs before they met, but he was just as obsessive about keeping clean as Meg was.
And he still performed a ritual bath after—
Thoughts of their life together ruined any chance Meg had of keeping her own calm. She felt the tears flowing down her cheeks as she watched the Muslim woman struggling with her own suffering.
“We have two showers upstairs,” Meg said. Then, to Eric and Rex, she asked, “Have any of the guys used it yet?”
Both men shook their heads, and Meg nodded her thanks before she turned to the Muslim woman again.
“I cleaned the engineer’s bathroom at the end of my last shift, and nobody’s used it since. It’s the best we can do for a woman’s bathroom, and I’m the only woman on the crew.”