Zombie Airman

by David Guenther

  Wetzel’s wait seemed an eternity. He imagined a horde waiting for the hatch to open so they could swarm aboard the aircraft. Then the scenario changed and he imagined stepping off the ladder and then grabbed from under the plane once they hit the ground. “Pilot says they haven’t seen any activity at all except one pickup truck about a hundred feet from the plane.” The loadmaster dropped the hatch open. Wetzel almost knocked him over in his rush to get on the tarmac. In teams of two, each team either took a position at the front of the plane, aft, or under the wing tips.

  Wetzel did a 360, noting the terrain would make an excellent billiards table for as far as the eye could see. His relief was short, now he had to clear the terminal and nearby hangars. “Russo, Mayer, I want both of your teams protecting the plane. If I call for support, that will be Russo’s team, Popov, your team with me.”

  Ed watched the “soldiers” exit the plane and felt cheated. He put the truck in gear and drove over to the terminal to help them out. Before he could get out of the truck, four of them surrounded him with their little black rifles.

  “S’cuse me boys, I see you’re all a little nervous in the service there. You all have no reason to worry about me. I help out here at the terminal part time. You all want me to unlock the door for you. I don’t think you’d have much luck trying to kick it in. I should know. I’ve seen the dents when some of the wilder kids around here tried to do just that.”

  Wetzel motioned for his folks to back off, then saw the six-shooter in the old man’s lap. He quickly brought his weapon to bear.

  “Gun!” Wetzel hollered, and then ordered the man to open the door with one hand while keeping the other in view.

  “Son, if I do what you ask, that old piece most likely will fall off my lap and fire when it hits the ground if I follow your instructions. How about you watch me real careful-like and I’ll pick it up with two fingers and put it on the passenger seat?” Ed didn’t know if he was more annoyed or scared; he knew a couple vets and these young’uns were nothing like them. On top of that, now he had to get into the terminal himself so he could use the bathroom.

  “Sir, pick up your weapon with two fingers and move it away from you, then exit the truck.” Wetzel was starting to sweat and he knew there was no reason for it. The old man was harmless.

  Ed slowly exited the truck and asked “Can I put my hands down now?”

  Damn, if the wind blows too hard, it’ll knock the old guy over.

  “Yes, sir, I was just being cautious. You say you have the building keys?” The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a huge ring of keys, then proceeded over to the terminal. He was already opening the door before Wetzel was ready. The old guy then just walked in, flipping light switches and hollering out.

  “Anyone in here? It’s me, Ed Grygorcewicz. I got the Army with me so come out slow and cool-like, they’re a bit nervous.”

  Feeling foolish, Wetzel finally asserted himself. “Looks like the place was locked up the entire time, we’ll just finish up, then do the hangars.” Wetzel followed the old guy as he opened up the last door; it had a single sign ‘Operations’ on the door. The old guy went for a coffee maker when they both heard the scream. Unseen, a zombie had stood in the corner and now was clawing at Wetzel as he grabbed the half-nude woman by the neck to stop her from biting him. Ed was next to him in no time. He quickly raised his right hand and fired a tiny automatic, making a hole in the woman’s forehead, just before she collapsed to the ground.

  “Damn. I’m sorry, Mary. I wish I hadn’t had to do that.” The old man slipped the tiny automatic back onto his jacket pocket. Wetzel was in shock; the old man had a holdout piece on him and then used it to save his life.

  “Well, Mary, I guess the rumors were true.” Ed looked at the shaken young man before him. “We all suspected that she was having an affair with Bob Cohen. Never could prove it. My guess is she turned on him and he managed to lock her in here and run. It would have been nice if he’d left a note on the door. I’ll make coffee later; let’s look at the maintenance building so we can all feel a little bit safer.”

  “Building secure, one zombie terminated. We will proceed to the rest of the buildings for clearance ops.” Wetzel said into his radio.

  Ed was surprised to see as many women and kids as soldiers standing around the plane. These folks ain’t here to rescue anyone; I think they ran from a fight. He watched them drive a one ton truck out of the plane, the sole vehicle. Damn, no tanks or fighting trucks either.

  Wetzel and his men made quick work of the remaining buildings, just as they’d trained, no more slacking off. No one under me is going to die today, he thought. The walk back to the terminal felt nice, especially now that there was nothing to do. The sounds of another aircraft taxiing down the runway made him feel even better. Now MSgt Conrad can take over and we can chill for a bit. The C-17C parked a little behind and to the side of the C-130J. Folks stood and watched, hoping to see friends, family, or comrades, just anyone that they knew. There were just too few survivors.

  Conrad exited the plane and as was pleased to see the four man security detail and a four man patrol returning to the planes. He walked over to the SrA and stopped in front of him. “Looks like you have everything here under control. Do you have anything to report?”

  “We secured the terminal and other buildings with the assistance of Mr. Grygorcewicz. He had the keys and volunteered to help. There was one zombie in the terminal. Mr. Grygorcewicz killed it.

  Conrad reached towards Ed’s hand and shook it. “Thank you, Mr. Grygorcewicz, for your assistance. How’s the apocalypse been going for you?”

  The question took Ed by surprise as he thought of the thing his wife had turned into waiting for him back in their home of 35 years. “It’s been a bit rough actually. My wife is now one of those monsters. Could you spare a man to come with me and, and take care of her?”

  “MSgt Conrad, could I please assist Mr. Grygorcewicz? He saved my ass back in the terminal. I want to pay him back.” Conrad looked at the determination on the airman’s face.

  “How far do you live from here sir?” Conrad asked, knowing he’d say ‘yes’ regardless of the distance.

  “I’m just three miles that away.” Ed said, pointing behind him.

  “SrA Wetzel, you have two hours to assist Mr. Grygorcewicz and then get your ass back here. We’re going to be busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest. Take one man with you. It’s now 0705, you will return by 0905. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, MSgt Conrad, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” The old man was quiet as Wetzel and Andersen rode with him to his home.

  Wetzel had expected to see a trailer home with a couple broken down cars out front when they arrived. Instead, it looked like a mansion in the center of a small industrial park. Metal buildings and heavy equipment were spaced out around the property. He was surprised to see oil pumps and a huge wind generator not far from the house. Ed saw the shocked look on the kid’s face.

  “Not what you were expecting son? I got lucky when they found oil and natural gas on my property. Life’s a little more comfortable than it was before.” Ed parked the truck at the front door and then, after they got out he clicked a button on his key ring as they walked towards the house. “Can never be too safe, I came home one time to find a young couple had broken in and had piled most of my most valuable possessions by the front door. It took them three hours to put everything back where it had come from, then clean up the house. When I was happy with the way the house looked, I called the county sheriff and let him deal with them. Got myself the best alarm system money could buy the next day. Never did tell the wife what happened. Funny thing was how happy she was to see the house nice and clean when she got home.”

  Opening the door, the house smelled of a mix of old leather, wood, and flowers. The room they entered into was vast. Wetzel could see two different living areas, a dining room, and a casual bar. “Let me give you boys the grand tour before we get do
wn to business.” Ed took off his coat and set his ring of keys and another set of keys on a table by the door.

  “I think you boys will like my office.” He led them in and pointed to the huge red oak bookshelves covering the four walls that went all the way to the top of the vaulted ceiling.

  “I never could bring myself to throw away a book; I don’t even know how many I have. This room can get mighty cozy with that fireplace.

  I saw a picture of big stone fireplace in an English castle, so I had this one made just like it. My favorite thing in the room is the secret room.”

  Ed opened a door disguised as a bookcase, then went down a series of steps to a huge vault door with a keypad, then typed in 1234. “They call this a safe room. I just like to think of it like a James Bond spy movie. It’s a nice safe place to keep my guns too. The wife hates guns with a passion.”

  Wetzel looked at the rack of guns covering an entire wall. The old man opened up one of the cabinets under the gun rack to show cases of ammo. “That other wall just has a little food in it. I went overboard and got a five year supply of the best freeze-dried food money could buy in case the shit hit the fan. The stuff has a shelf life of twenty-five years.

  I guess we had better get to what you boys came by to do.” Ed turned and shooed the boys out of the room but did not close the door behind him.

  “It’s a shame me and the wife never had kids. Neither of us has any other living family either, I hope none of what we worked towards here goes to waste after we die.” The old man got quiet after that and led the boys to a stairway to the second level.

  “You’ll find her in there, please make it quick.” Wetzel just nodded in understanding. Clicking his M4 to ‘semi,’ then motioned for Andersen to open the door slowly. The zombie was asleep in the far corner. When it heard Wetzel, it let out a shriek. Before it could come to its feet, Wetzel had planted two rounds in her chest and one in her head. He never even stepped into the room.

  “Thank you, boys. My truck keys are by the front door; you go ahead and take that and anything else you want.” Ed slipped by the boys and locked the door. Ten seconds later, there was a soft ‘pop’ from the other side of the door.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Wetzel said angrily.

  “Stop and think for a second. Why do you think the old man showed us everything then gave us the keys? We can ride out the apocalypse here. Screw the Air Force and fighting zombies. At least let’s go to the kitchen and see what there is to eat.” Andersen headed down the stairs, leaving Wetzel to think about what the old man had offered them. At least here there’d be a warm bed instead of ending up on the floor of a hangar or plane, the place was remote and secure, power, food, weapons. He made up his mind and hurried to join Andersen in the kitchen.

  Andersen was already cutting slices off a beef roast he found in the refrigerator, an open bottle of beer at his side. “Check the cupboards for the bread. There’s ketchup and mayo in the fridge if you want it.” Wetzel started opening cupboards and found plates and glasses. He turned to give the plates to Andersen and was disgusted to see him eating a handful of beef.

  “Aw, for Chrissakes we aren’t animals, yet!” Wetzel dropped the plates by the beef roast and continued looking in the cupboards until he found bread. He turned back to Andersen to see him stuffing the last of a meat slice in his mouth. Wetzel stood quietly as he cut himself a couple more slices of beef and made them into a sandwich with the bread that turned out to be homemade. Andersen went back to the cupboards and looked for more when he struck pay dirt. In his arms was a huge cookie jar, he didn’t give it a second look when the top fell off and shattered on the floor.

  “Man, these cookies are good but they don’t go well with beer.” Wetzel lost it at that moment, anger clouding his judgment. He grabbed the beer from Andersen’s hand and threw it into the sink.

  “Shut the fuck up! I’m going to finish my sandwich like a civilized man. Then we are not going to loot this place or go AWOL. We will head back to the airport and report on the house here, and how it was offered to us. Now, go find a soda or something to sober you up.”

  “Are you fucking crazy man? I only had like two sips of beer. This is the zombie apo...”

  “This is war, is what it is,” Wetzel interrupted, “Desertion during war is a hanging offense. Now just have another sandwich and chill.” With a mouth full of his sandwich, he turned away from Andersen. Opening the fridge, he looked in and saw that bottles of Coke lined the door. He grabbed two.

  Andersen was facing him; he’d adjusted his M4 on its sling so he could bring it up quickly, if he had to, yet did not look like a direct threat. “Man, I’m through after last night. I’m tired of watching friends die or having to kill friends who’ve turned.”

  “Brent, the worst of everything is over, from here we coast. That’s why we’re in fucking Wyoming, because no people equates to no zombies. You saw the hordes coming from Colorado Springs. Just think of New York City, San Francisco, or Chicago. The big cities died last night, Washington DC died last night, hell, we’ll probably end up having to live in North Dakota or some other place without people. This is the worst time to try and go AWOL, because there is no place to run to!” Wetzel could see Andersen was losing it and went over to him, arms out.

  “If you think you’re going to hug me, well, just think again, dammit. Now let’s get the hell out of here before you lose all self control.”

  “Wait, we still have over an hour. I’m going to take a quick shower and try to feel human again. Look around maybe you can find another shower, this place is big enough.” Half an hour later, nice and clean in their dirty uniforms, they were heading back to the airport.

  Peterson AFB, Colorado. April 2, 2029

  The first thing Caleb White thought when he woke up was that he was in heaven. Everything was just too bright. Then, when his eyes started to hurt from the light, he thought he might be in hell. Then he smelled the dead bodies, the coppery smell of blood mixed with the smell of bad meat and human waste. His eyes began to focus and he realized he was in the armory. His last memory was eating his dinner and having a drink or more. I was supposed to die; I can’t be having a hangover. He felt like he was on a boat and tried to get his sea legs. He gingerly walked back to the small office at the back of the armory when he saw what was left of Rick and lost his last meal before he even felt it coming up. The vent blowing hot air sounded like a tornado and the birds outside the building were louder than normal. He could hear a new noise; definite movement out in the hallway. Caleb moved as quickly as his head would let him to get his M4. If those creatures get in, they’re in for a hell of a surprise. He returned to the door and noticed his personal rifle, a Winchester 1973, among a pile of non-military weapons. He tried to remember but had no recollection of having his rifle out.

  There were four loud beeps from the other side of the door, and then the sound of the bolt opening, why was it so loud? Three men dressed in OCPs burst through the door. One had a pistol Caleb recognized easily, an old Beretta, the other two carried baseball bats. They looked like they were going to charge at him.

  “Freeze motherfuckers! Caleb shouted as menacingly as he could. All three stopped in their tracks, the one with the Beretta made a point to aim it away from him. Damn! You and your buddies had time to get all soaked in cologne and body wash. All of you remind me of old ladies wearing perfume.

  “Sorry, we thought all we’d find in here are zombies. Who the hell are you? Moreover, how did you get in here? I’m MSgt Murphy, 21st Security Forces Squadron.”

  “I’m A1C Caleb White, AFSPC Special Projects. Last night MSgt Conrad made me an augmentee when he ran out of defenders. What a fun night that was. What’s the game plan for today? My unit is gone; AFSPC, along with every swinging dick that could, evacuated the base last night.” Caleb looked down at his palm and was surprised to see no sign of his injury or the infection. Oh crap! Ricky was full of shit! I could have gotten on the plane.

&nb
sp; “So why did you stay behind then, airman?” Murphy asked, not even trying to hide his suspicions.

  “Well, after I spent most of the time playing pied piper trying to keep three, yes three, zombie hordes from reaching the flight line. When I did get to the plane, there were more zombie hordes coming from the civilian side of the airfield that would have stopped the plane from getting away. My buddy, Ricky, and I volunteered to crew a Guardian from Schriever, to keep the zombie hordes partially at bay, until the plane got off. If you had been here you would have seen the fun. I might have tried to use one of Peterson’s armored cars, except they used up almost all their ammo. A real fun night, indeed.

  “So, you were putting down suppression fire for the plane. Where is your ‘buddy’ Ricky you mentioned? Can he corroborate your story?” Murphy was getting agitated now.

  “He’s right here in the armory still, back there where the locker is open. He can’t confirm my story though.” Murphy walked past Caleb, when he got to the open locker he just turned around without saying anything.

  “MSgt Murphy, is there a plan you need my help with? If not, I’m going over to the AFSPC building and try to get in contact with my chain of command. They may need me to access satellites since the building’s deserted.

  “If we need manpower assistance, we’ll try to find you. You weren’t taking any drugs last night or this morning, were you? Your eyes are completely dilated, reminds me of my cat at night.”

  “I don’t do drugs, though there’s some beer and booze left in the office from last night.” Caleb walked back to the office and buckled on the pistol belt. He was lifting the body armor to put it on when Murphy stopped him.