by M. Lorrox
Thinking of all the heroes in the U.S. military.
Thank you so much for your service!
“Oh dear, what the fuck have we here?
These motherfuckers all thorn no rose.”
–Run the Jewels
As the emergency medical helicopter lifts off from Gravelly Point in Virginia, the passengers are silent and still. With the roar of the rotors above them saturating their minds, they have to focus just to think. The realities they face, none would ever have chosen.
Charlie watches out his window as the old, lonely tree grows smaller. In a hollow within its trunk, he laid Rusty—his companion for the last one hundred and twenty-five years—to rest. June’s body lays on a stretcher across the helicopter’s floor, and Eddy leans over her, holding her lifeless hand. The tears in his eyes help to obscure the image of her mutilated body.
Sadie watches her son go through hell, only to look at June and feel the wrenching loss herself. Next to her, alongside the helicopter’s other window, Enrique sits with his eyes closed. He breathes through the pain that still sears from the hole in his leg, his broken arm, and the deep gash across his back.
None of them know that the explosion Michael set off also released the tens of thousands of zombies in the Pentagon into the metro system. These zombies are now ripping their way through the three tunnels connected to the Pentagon Metro station, and they’re rampaging out of other stations and attacking people in Northern Virginia and in Washington DC.
No one anywhere yet knows that Dr. Melgaard also triggered the release of other zombies and the initialization of specially designed electronic equipment. All that the sorrow-laden passengers of the helicopter know, is that for the moment, they’re allowed to sit and rest.
The vampire medic hooks up another pint of blood to June’s IV, then he checks Enrique’s IV and his various bandages. “How are you holding up, bud?”
Enrique answers with his eyes still closed. “Been better.”
As the helicopter banks toward the hospital, Charlie’s window faces downtown DC. He swallows, thinking about his daughter and about his best friend, and he hopes that they’re safe.
Across the river, all traffic is jammed. People wait and sweat in their cars while they listen to updates on the radio. None of the recent news has been good.
A black and chromed ‘87 Buick Grand National blasts rap music instead of the news. When someone runs up to the car and skids across the giant hood like Bo Duke, the white guy behind the wheel turns down the music and blows up. “Did you see that shithead? That’s uncalled for.”
The larger black man in the passenger seat shakes his head. “No respect.” He looks out and sees more people running their way. “Ah fuck. Looks like it’s show time, brother. You ready for this shit?”
“As ready as I’m gonna be.” He blasts the music again and pops the trunk. Both men hop out and walk to the back of the car.
The white dude grabs a pair of machetes, and the black dude lifts out a pressure-treated 4x4 that has a lathe-carved handle. He holds the heavy weapon with one hand and shakes his shoulders out. “She’s your ride; which you want, front or back?”
The white guy shuts the trunk and glances in the direction the crowd runs from, and he sees that the zombies aren’t far behind. Goddamn it. “Front.”
The black guy climbs on the trunk and takes a low stance. He pulls up the pantlegs of his camo-patterned cargos while the white dude jumps on the hood and pushes his short sleeves up to his shoulders. “Come and get it motherfuckers!”
They start bouncing the car on its shocks.
People running from the zombies deflect to either the front or back, but the zombies don’t. As they rush the car, the men slice and bash them back to the ground.
The black guy swings the massive bat into a zombie’s skull, and its whole body catches some air. He opens his mouth wide, screams, then hisses with his tongue out. “Ahhh! EAT MY WOOD! Who wants some?”
There are still over twenty-five thousand zombies inside the Pentagon, and they have two exits. One is above ground, where a tank blew a hole in the south wall for Charlie’s grand entrance. This hole grows smaller by the second as soldiers execute the exiting zombies and add their corpses to the already waist-high pile.
The other exit available to the zombies is underground, at the Pentagon Metro station. Here, there are no soldiers stationed, and the zombies flow out and down the metro tunnels. The station is a transfer point, where the Blue and Yellow Lines connect. The Blue Line heads north to Rosslyn—another transfer station where it connects with the Orange and Silver lines—and south to Pentagon City and other stations in Virginia. The Yellow Line out of the Pentagon heads into DC, to L’Enfant Plaza, another transfer station, where all but one of DC’s metro lines merge.
General James Roland Riley, who commands the military forces at the Pentagon Field Command Center, wishes there was only one hole—the one his men made. That one isn’t a threat. The other one, however, with connections to almost every commuter line that runs through Virginia, Washington DC, and Maryland, could crumble what’s left of the United States of America. While General Riley consults with the President over the phone, he motions with his free hand, and his current protégé, Captain Rickman, rushes over.
Rickman doesn’t stand as tall as General Riley, and as a new captain, he’s inexperienced. He is, however, dedicated and cool-tempered—the latter an obvious contrast to his role model.
“Yes, I understand sir, but… Yes, I understand.” General Riley covers the mouthpiece of the phone. “Get policemen, troops, whoever you can in DC, to set up a quarantine from M Street North to M Street South, from the Potomac on the west, to 8th Street East.” He removes his hand and speaks into the mouthpiece. “Yes, I completely agree.” He covers it again and peers at Rickman with contempt. “Now! Send those orders and get back here, damn it.”
Rickman bolts away, grabs another soldier, and relays the orders while General Riley uncovers the mouthpiece. “Sir, yes. We’ve alerted all area airports that we’re initiating Standing Order Zom-Air… Yes, all civilian aircraft should be grounded... Sir, yes, I can put Apaches in the air to patrol, but I need your permission to grant them firing authority.”
“General, only after radio warnings, and then after warning shots. Exactly as per the order, understood?”
“Yes, sir, perfectly. Give me a moment.” He covers the mouthpiece again. Rickman is standing ready to receive new orders. “Spin the Apaches and put them on patrol along the beltway. They have firing authority pursuant to Standing Order Zom-Air.”
He nods, then he rushes to relay the orders.
“I’m back.”
“General, most of the DOD is now lost to us, including the Joint Chiefs and the secretary of defense. During this emergency, I’m granting you authority over all our military forces. Whatever you need, we can arrange.”
“Thank you, sir.” Maybe I can get a word in now. “I’m concerned that holding the quarantine only around downtown will be too difficult. We have limited ground forces in the area; most of our resources are focused out west along The Line. If we wait for reinforcements from Quantico and we lose quarantine, it’ll be all for naught. It may be extreme, but you might want to consider expanding the quarantine to encompass the entire district and the suburbs. That way, we can—”
“General, the quarantine must be as small as possible while still being effective. The population in the area has exploded in the last six months—you’re suggesting I abandon ten million civilians.”
“Sir, if the Z escape the quarantine, we might lose the whole country. We have to prioritize containment over protecting the civilians in DC. This may be our
only opportunity to contain this threat.” He swallows. “We could deploy the new, LIDAR Anti-Zombie Robot System from the Army Research Laboratory.”
“…Approved, around the same, small perimeter.”
General Riley covers the mouthpiece and yells over his shoulder, “Green-light ARL’s LAZoRS at quarantine! Cancel all troop deployments inside quarantine!”
Rickman and the radio operators forward the commands.
He uncovers the mouthpiece. “We’ll set up the system along the quarantine. That’ll hold containment, and it’ll open our troops up to hunt down any escaped zombies.”
“General, promise me you’ll do everything you can to protect the American people. Our future is in your hands.”
“Absolutely sir, we will contain the threat, and when we have the means, we’ll rescue every single civilian we can. This is not America’s swan song, sir, far from it.”
“-sigh- I hope you’re right... My team is going to -FFFFFF!-”
Across the Washington DC metro area, timers on a dozen Marx generators reach zero. These devices were assembled by Michael Turner and were initiated by Dr. Lars Melgaard exactly five minutes ago. On each of the Marx generators, rows of humming capacitors discharge over varying lengths of looped wire. Each loop creates a strong electromagnetic pulse over a different frequency, and each device causes so much interference in their surrounding areas that all radio signals between 300 kHz and 30 GHz are interrupted.
This range includes AM and FM radio, CB and government band radio, cell phones, television broadcasts, communications satellites, and many other devices that rely on electromagnetic signals.
At each location, the hum builds as the capacitors recharge for a few seconds, then they discharge again. Until each unit’s power source is depleted or the devices themselves are destroyed, the majority of all communications near the devices are jammed and rendered effectively useless.
“-FFFFFF!-” General Riley holds the phone’s handset away from his head. “What the hell happened?”
Radio operators in the command tent also look confused. Rickman rushes over to a table with some equipment on it. “Sir, looks like we just got hit with an EM pulse... Interference across the spectrum... Different strengths...from different locations...” He looks straight into General Riley’s eyes and clears his throat. “This can only be a coordinated EM attack.”
General Riley throws the phone. “Fucking hell! Tell me ARL got the orders!”
A radio operator springs up. “Sir, they did sir. LAZoRS should be on the way.”
He sighs. “For all of our skins, I sure as hell hope so.”
Rickman shakes his head at the monitor in front of him. “General, we just got hit with it again.”
“Fuck, this could murder us.” The general’s eyes dart back and forth as he thinks, until they finally lock onto his captain. “Rickman, will the kay-ay band sat-links and microwave transmission relays still work?” He holds his breath, and his face grows a redder tan.
Rickman studies the screen and checks the frequencies being disrupted. “Sir, I can’t be sure, but they should, barely. That is unless you’re right on top of whatever’s causing the interference.”
General Riley exhales. “See if you can get Quantico on the kay-ay and get a microwave transmitter pointed at L’Enfant... Grab a portable unit, a tent and table, and a platoon of up to twenty marines. We’re headed downtown.” He turns and rushes off before Rickman can respond.
The captain takes a breath. Downtown? How the fuck are we getting in?
National Guardsmen deployed in Pentagon City pour hot lead in the form of full metal jacketed bullets down the escalators and stairwells that lead to the Pentagon City Metro station. The emergency medical helicopter circles the area as the pilot looks for a place to touch down. While he’s looking, the radio is overrun with interference.
Both the pilot and the medics switch off their headsets. The vampire medic leans toward the cockpit and yells so the pilot can hear him over the engine and rotor noise, “What happened?”
“I’m not sure! I lost air-traffic too!” The pilot finds a spot in the grass outside the mall next door to the vampire hotel. “I’ll set down over there!”
As they descend, Sadie reaches across June’s body and grabs Eddy. “Listen, we will meet you at the hospital, alright?”
He looks up. His eyes are wet marbles stained red. “What about June?”
Sadie swallows and turns to the vampire medic. Stitched to his jumpsuit is his name. “Pandev, when you get to INOVA Fairfax, can you see that she keeps getting fluids?”
“Call me Gorgi.” He checks June’s IV. Damn, dry again. “Sure. When I pass her off, I can tell them to keep treating her, but—”
Sadie places her hand on his arm. “Until I get there, she continues receiving treatment. Understood?”
He nods. “I’ll make sure the doctor’s there understand, Eld...Mrs. Costanza.”
She leans in toward him and whispers just loud enough for him to hear, “Life in the blood—”
“Death in the blood.”
Sadie gives him a sad smile, then she turns to Eddy. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
He nods, and Enrique motions with the bandaged hand on his unbroken arm to grab her attention. “If you run into Flying Eagle, will you tell him I’m alright?”
Charlie reaches out and squeezes the squire’s good leg—the one he didn’t drop a burning flare onto in the elevator shaft. “We’ll try to get him the message. Stick together as best you can, and watch each other’s backs. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.” Enrique looks at Eddy, who just rubs June’s hand.
The pilot yells back, “You getting out or what?”
Charlie huffs. Well, I guess they can’t run this thing all day. He and Sadie jump out, grimacing again at the shrapnel shifting positions in their flesh. The helicopter takes off and gains elevation before banking west.
They watch it until it accelerates away. Then Sadie turns to Charlie. “C’mon. Let’s get the shrapnel out of our asses and get changed. We’ve got work to do.”
Captain Korina Sarkis and her squire, Jambavan, are still running toward the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History and the bus filled with vampire kids, but they’re slowing down.
Korina had refused blood before they left the car. They’re under a cloudless sky, and she is burning in the late-afternoon sun, but they’re slowing because of another reason. The two vampires are running against the flood of people fleeing the National Mall, the busy area around the Smithsonian museums, and the zombies.
Korina and Jambavan run toward the bus, toward the zombies, and the hundreds of desperate people in their way only impede their progress.
They’re both tired when they get to the bus, and Korina is both injured and burned. Fifty frantic people bang on the bus trying to get in, and chaperones sitting against the windows try to block the sight from the children. No one on the bus sees Korina or Jambavan, because no one is looking out the windows.
No one wants to look out the windows.
Jambavan bends down, supports his torso with his hands on his knees, and huffs air. “Now what?”
Korina looks around. She sees some shade nearby, and she feels the impulse to dive for it and collapse in its protection. No. I have a duty. She thinks of options for getting on the bus. Wait, that’s it. “Jump on top!”
They push their way past people until they’re next to the bus, then Jambavan bends down and laces his fingers together. “I’ll push you up, then you can catch me.”
Korina doesn’t respond to her squire; instead, she immediately steps into his laced fingers and springs up. Jambavan does the rest, and she lands on top of the bus. -THUD!-
Kids scream inside the bus as Katlyn Bergström, the children’s activity coordinator who planned the field trip, talks over the announcement intercom. “Stay calm everyone, knights are on the way. Just please stay calm.”
Korina drops on
to her belly and extends her hand down. Jambavan leaps up, grabs her hand, then they both pull, and Jambavan is rocketed up and onto the roof. -THUD!-
More screaming comes from inside the bus. Outside, some people try and pull off the same maneuver to get on top of the bus, but they’re not nearly strong enough to succeed. They smash into the side of the bus then crash back to the ground instead.
Korina and Jambavan stand and notice an emergency hatch on the roof that can be opened from inside. Jambavan motions for Korina to follow him, and they run along the roof toward the front.
-Thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud-…
Kids scream and chaperones gasp as they follow the sound of the running feet above their heads with their eyes.
Jambavan skids onto his knees. “Grab my legs!”
Korina trained her squire well, and she trusts him. She grabs hold as his head and upper body extends down the front of the bus’s tall windshield. He knocks on the glass. “Hey! We made it!”
Katlyn spins around, recognizes him as a Squire of the Order, and breathes relief. Thank the gods!
While upside down, in view of Frank the bus driver, Jambavan points inside the bus toward the ceiling. “Open the hatch!”
Frank nods and then rushes past Katlyn. As he steps onto the sides of seats to reach the hatch, Katlyn speaks through the intercom. “Everyone, the knights have arrived. Please stay calm and make some room for them.”
Frank gets the hatch open, and first Jambavan, then Korina drop in. A pair of other people finally get on top of the bus, and they sprint for the hatch. Jambavan climbs up to close the door before they can reach it. He shuts and locks it.
They bang on the roof and yell. Jambavan frowns as some chaperones console crying children. Korina places her hand on his shoulder. “We can’t save everyone, but we can do our duty. Stay focused.”