“What’s your name, ma’am?” Hathaway asked as she grabbed one of the flashlights he held.
“Abigail Redman, young man.” She said sternly grabbing one of the angle headed flashlight, fumbling with the switch until she got it to turn on.
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Hathaway gave a slight nod, winking at her. Directing the two privates from the truck to begin escorting those civilians that needed to ride in the Hummer, Ms. Redman one of them, he organized the others into two parallel lines.
“Last chance, sir. You come with us or you stay here and take your chances.” The man huffed indignantly at the very idea that someone beneath his class standing would suggest that he walk even the shortest distance when there was transportation available.
“Thank you no, Sergeant. I’ll be perfectly fine,” he said in a dismissive way to Hathaway.
“Suit yourself,” Hathaway said before walking off and joining the rest of the group.
“Wilson, you take the left side of the Hummer. Dunmire, you got the right, I’ll take drag.” Hathaway called out. With the two soldiers in the lead, the Hummer slowly moving in the center, the gaggle moved into the night. Fearful eyes watched every shadow, alley and dark corner. The only noise was the loud blatting of the Hummer’s diesel engine, shattering the stillness of the night.
***
Hathaway watched each building as they passed, being behind he was in a position to watch the places they passed for activity. It was easy to keep track of the soldiers, they all wore the three pattern desert BDU, as long as he saw the private’s tan K-pots bob as they walked, he knew they were still leading the group. Hathaway fell into his old patrol rhythm, every so many steps he would turn and walk backwards, checking behind them for any threats. The Hummer was so full of people; Axtell was sitting on the roof, legs straddling the weapon mount.
Glass broke in the alley to Hathaway’s right.
Spinning to face that direction, Hathaway slowed his pace, allowing the Hummer and its walking entourage to increase distance from him. As he passed the alley, he saw movement at the far end, then several lurching shadows blocked out what little light bled into it from adjoining buildings. He slowed his pace even more as he passed the darkened entrance, reaching up with his left hand to key the mike on his shoulder. Jimbo could hear what was being said.
“Dunmire, Wilson, pick up the pace a little. Valdez, slow down. Axtell, swing that .50 around real slow like, don’t make it look like you’re doing it for any reason but to get it out of your way.” He said quietly as his right thumb moved the selector switch on his M4, clicking it over to three round burst. His left hand moved down from the radio mike, automatically checking ammo pouches, stopping on the White Phosphorous grenade clipped to his belt. A rancid smell wafted towards him over the exhaust of the Hummer. It was a combined smell of garbage, open sewer and rotting flesh, almost making him gag. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Axtell’s ACU shape shuffle on the roof of the Hummer, slowly swinging the big M2 around. Cautiously, Hathaway raised his left hand, pointing to the alley. He saw Axtell nod, center his aim at the entrance and brace his feet in preparation to fire on his command. Hathaway picked up the pace a little, still walking a little sideways, his weapon pointing in the general direction of the hostiles.
“Slow and easy people. No sudden moves.” He said over the radio. Most of the civilians didn’t notice the Hummer slow down. Jimbo realized that something was strange when he looked over and saw Berg over the hood, a view that normally was obstructed by the hatchback of the Hummer. He looked back at the master sergeant, seeing him with his rifle aimed at an alley they had passed, walking slower, staring intently into it. He thought he smelled something spoiled, but couldn’t be sure over the smell of diesel exhaust. Jimbo caught Berg’s eye, nodded, jerked his head back in the direction of Hathaway then gripped his sister’s hand tighter. He watched as Berg slowly looked behind, looked back at him, nodded then used his inhaler. Jimbo walked a little faster. Coming abreast to the middle aged couple in front of him, he forced a grin, nodded to them then looked back at Berg, who had increased his pace as well. The college girl that Berg had his arm around was now clutching his forearm, eyes wide with fear.
Hathaway watched more of the shadowy shapes shamble and shuffle towards him from the far end of the alley.
“Steady. Steady,” he said into the radio mike, not sure if it was meant to reassure the others. He was almost to the end of the block and to the rear of the Hummer when a power transformer arced; sparks spit from it then popped, cutting power to several city blocks, enveloping them in pitch-blackness. Screaming came from the group around the Hummer. Several people ran into the beams of the headlights, bumping into each other, arms flailing, eyes trying to look in all directions.
“Son of a bitch!” Axtell shouted firing off a burst at the alley he hoped he was still lined up on. The large muzzle flashes of the heavy weapon illuminating him like a strobe. Hathaway instinctively ducked and moved in the direction of the Hummer, now just a dark shape with small red lights at the rear. He saw those lights brighten slightly as Valdez hit the brakes. The echo of the heavy weapon rattled among the buildings. Hathaway heard pieces of brick hit the ground from the direction of the alley as the heavy caliber weapon chewed up the façade of the buildings. He dropped to one knee and fired several short bursts into the alley.
“Cease fire! Cease Fire!” Hathaway yelled out as he ran crouched to the back of the Hummer. The heavy weapon stopped firing only to be replaced with screams of the panicked civilians and loud moans from the alley.
“Axtell! This is not a recon by fire! We still have friendlies out here!” Hathaway shouted.
“Wilson! Dunmire!” Hathaway called out into the darkness. He shifted position a little, placing his back against the Hummer, weapon pointing at the alley as he changed magazines, stuffing the partially used magazine in the previously empty dump pouch strapped to his waist on the left side of his tactical vest. He methodically worked the action of his rifle, eyes never leaving the dark entrance of the alley.
“Wilson! Dunmire! Sound off!” Hathaway repeated.
“Here, Master Sergeant!” a nervous Wilson replied from the front of the Hummer. Hathaway waited what seemed an eternity for Dunmire to call out.
“Dunmire! Private Dunmire! Sound off!” Silence. Hathaway rose up a little to look over his left shoulder where Dunmire should be.
“Valdez!”
“Hoo-ah, Sergeant!”
“You see Dunmire?”
“No, Sergeant!” Where was that little chicken shit? Hathaway asked himself.
“Axtell! You see Dunmire?”
“Negative.”
Damn. Hope that kid didn’t run off. He had four civvies with him.
“OK people, we’re going to pick up the pace a little, like a jog. Put a hand on the side of the vehicle and keep up with it.” There was some whimpering and outright sobbing at Hathaway’s statement but the group was more concerned by the moaning still emanating in the alley.
“Everyone get back in their places and let’s go!” He came up along the driver’s side of the Hummer, pulling people into place before he got to the driver’s window.
“I’m going to find Dunmire. Keep everyone together. Go.” The Hummer accelerated a little, the people hanging onto the sides to get the idea of how fast they needed to jog. Hathaway watched the dim red lights get smaller before he turned to look back at the alley. Jimbo could see shadows on the cross streets and in the alleys. He was sure Hathaway could as well. Up ahead, Jimbo thought he saw something light color laying in the gutter by the sidewalk. He wanted to shout out to Hathaway but when the looked back, he saw the sergeant already cautiously approaching that item. Stopping, squatting down and using his penlight, it revealed a helmet. Jimbo tried to keep the NCO in view but the Hummer turned a corner as Hathaway approached whatever is was lying in the street. Hathaway squatted down and picked up the helmet, slowly turning it around so he could read th
e name on printed on the OD helmet band. Dunmire. Maybe it fell off when the soldier was running. Hathaway slowly scanned the area with the thin beam of his flashlight, probing the darkness for some clue as to where the private had gone. The cone of light stopped to reveal one of the infected scooping into the body cavity of a prone figure wearing military camouflage. Morbid fascination made Hathaway watch the infected pull out some unrecognizable internal organ, taking a bite out of it as blood ran down its chin. Hathaway’s beam moved around the prone body to illuminate more bodies being feasted on, the missing civilians from Dunmire’s section. The flashlight beam wavered then dropped to the street and rolled to the curb.
“Fuck me!” Hathaway said as he fired a short full auto burst in the general direction of the eating infected. He could make out movement in the darkness as he turned and ran to the Hummer. “Valdez! Axtell!”Hathaway yelled out as he drew closer. The driver’s door was open.
“Up here, Sergeant.” Hathaway looked up to see Axtell sit up; he had been lying flat, talking to the people inside.
“You find Dunmire?” Axtell asked from his position.
He came around the side of the Hummer and looked in. Several civilians were sitting inside, terrified expressions on their faces. Ms. Redman sitting in the passenger seat acting as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Axtell leaned over and looked down at him.
“Sergeant, you find him?” Axtell asked again somewhat nervously.
“Yeah, I found him.” Axtell saw the look on Hathaway’s face, giving him the all the answer he needed. “Where’s Valdez?”
“He saw Captain Steele’s vehicle down that way.” Axtell pointed to a side street. “He went down there with some of the high school kids to check it out.”
“Damnit! Keep an eye out!” Hathaway pointed back in the direction he had come from then looked down the sidestreet, at the far end where Axtell had indicated. There was still power to the buildings about a block past Steele’s Hummer. Those buildings projected a weak light, just enough to make out shapes moving around. He jogged towards them. The closer he got, the more he was able to make out. He saw Valdez, standing in front of the second door on the driver’s side, pulling items out of the vehicle to add to a small pile already on the street.
“Valdez! What the fuck?” Valdez poked his head back from inside the stopped vehicle.
“Re-supplying, Master Sergeant. Captain ain’t gonna need it no more.” he said as he brought out gear, ammo and weapons, separating them into piles.
“You find Captain Steele?”
“Found what was left of him.” Valdez nonchalantly pointed to a pair of ACU pants, boots still neatly bloused into them, on the sidewalk. The upper body was nowhere to be seen, just a trail of blood and gore leading off into the shadows. Hathaway looked away, bile rushing to his mouth.
“Fuck me running,” Hathaway muttered. Why the fuck hadn’t higher briefed them on this?
Valdez continued pulling items from the inside of the Hummer, separating them into stacks. One of the kids, Hathaway remembered seeing from the tent back at the armory, picked up a duty belt, struggling to strap it around his waist, a M9 Beretta in the UM84 holster, weighing down the belt to hang low on one side. Valdez picked up a rifle, checked the magazine before slapping it back in place, chambered a round; put it on safe and handing it to Jimbo. Jimbo reached down and picked up a load bearing harness with several magazine pouches on it, which he slung over one shoulder. Hathaway watched, as the civilians stood there, quiet, maybe in shock, maybe not, looking around, alert to the slightest sound or movement. Valdez walked to the back of the Hummer, popped the hatch, lifting the gate up with a slight hiss of hydraulic pistons, the rubber gasket dropping out to hang over the small tailgate once the pressure released it from its place. He began to root around inside, handing out items to waiting hands, ammo cans, helmets, load bearing vest, ration packs. The .50 spit a short burst from behind them, then several more in rapid succession. Everyone jumped then spun and looked back at it. Axtell was firing several long bursts in the direction they had come from. The muzzle flash punctuated by tracers, an eerie stroboscopic effect backlighting him. The echo of the heavy weapon bouncing off the surrounding buildings, reverberating off the glass and steel, slowly fading until the next burst raced to catch up with the diminishing echo.
“Fuck. Fuck Fuck. Fuck.” the middle aged man repeated the mantra as he held his wife tight, repeating the word like a mantra another rifle slung over his shoulder. Valdez glanced that way as he continued to pull the items out of the Hummer.
“Goddamn. We is in some shit now.” Valdez muttered as Hathaway looked at the firing Hummer then back at the frightened faces of the group. Seeing that they were looking at him for some form of guidance or direction. Private Wilson stood there, ashen faced as he looked back at the Hummer and then at the remains of Captain Steele.
Hathaway grabbed the rifle from Jimbo, moved the selector switch to semi auto, handed it back.
“You’re hot now, kid. This weapon is set on semi auto, meaning that every time you pull the trigger you expend one bullet, that’s all I want you to use. One bullet. Make it count.” He turned to Valdez who was checking the action of his rifle. Hathaway pulled out the magazine in his own weapon, tapped it against his thigh twice before sliding it into the rifle.
“Grab what you can.” He said as he kicked the useless items aside. “Grab this stuff here, leave the rest.” He said as he used his boot to move the junk items aside. “If you keep heading in that direction, you’ll run into the abandoned industrial area, find someplace to hole up, wait for daylight then try for the university. There should be some more patrols along by then.” Hathaway pointed in the direction of the city that still had electricity. Letting his rifle hang by the sling, he removed his M9, ejected the magazine, checked it, then slid it back into the pistol, jacked a round into the chamber before returning it to its holster.
Looking at Valdez and Wilson, “You up for this?”
“Fuck yeah.” Valdez replied, tapping a magazine against his helmet to seat the rounds before sliding it into the receiver, working the action to strip the first round out of the magazine. Wilson shakily chambered a round into his rifle and nodded acknowledgment. Hathaway looked back at Jimbo.
“You keep these people together as best you can. We’ll buy you some time, don’t waste it.” He looked into the wide, frightened eyes of the young man. “See you around, kid.”
He turned to his two soldiers, got a nod from Valdez, whose eyes were hard, unafraid, as he seemed to see his destiny in the darkness surrounding them. Wilson just swallowed and nodded.
“Let’s do this.” The men broke into a jog, neither looking back at the group. Jimbo, Melody, Berg, his girl, the middle-aged couple stood watching the figures become dark running shapes, the sound of their boots fading, mixing with the bark of rifles, yelling, the thunder of the .50 overriding it all.
Then the screaming started.
Then utter and complete silence.
The electricity died, without warning, without preamble, just sudden darkness enveloping them.
Jimbo’s group had stumbled through the night until they came to a large chain link fence. They had climbed over the fence and forced their way inside the building, barricading the door behind them. The warehouse they had taken shelter in had once been an interior and exterior door manufacturer but had closed up shop due to economic hardship.
The plant complex had been sold piecemeal and demolished over the years until all that remained was the primary production warehouse. The room they had made into their living quarters was once used for a variety of functions, from an engineer’s work station to a supervisor’s office, for some reason it had been placed in the middle of the third floor. Now, it was stripped like the rest of the building right down to the bare concrete walls. This room was the only remaining enclosure within the entire warehouse. It had remained because it was constructed of concrete from some old and long forgotten building code.
He set his bowl on a table made from two foundation bricks and boards pulled from pallets, next to the door. Walking past the multiple paned, dirty windows, he passed by the latrine before heading for the roof access stairs. Luck, or chance had granted them a relatively easy location to secure. Their latrine, an alcove where the original restrooms had once been, still had a sink and commode installed but the walls surrounding them had been partially removed. Robert Kennedy with the help of Berg had constructed a privacy wall. Water wasn’t a big issue as there were two large tanks on the roof, probably dating back to shortly after the factory opened and required by an arcane fire code. As long as they boiled the water before use, Kennedy had been certain that it was still potable.
Morrison stepped out onto the gravel and asphalt roof as the movie of his memory came to an end. He stopped to adjust his belt as he did. They had all lost weight since IT had happened. He thought about the National Guard soldiers who had been assigned to their convoy. When the truck had run out of fuel, the senior sergeant, the same man who knew he had played football, had stepped in without hesitation to take charge. The plan to move to the local university was solid but circumstances changed once the power was lost. Morrison always wondered what happened to that sergeant and his men. When the shooting had stopped, he assumed they had all been killed by the infected. Maybe some of them had escaped or maybe none of them had. If anyone had escaped, wouldn’t someone have come looking for them by now?
The sun was lower in the sky; he guessed it was late afternoon maybe 3 or 4 o’clock. He had no real way of knowing as his watch battery had died weeks ago. Picking up the binoculars they had salvaged from a retail store a few blocks away, he looked in the direction of the university, scanning those buildings first before focusing on the ones nearer to him.
Up From the Depths: Book 4 Movement to Contact Page 12