by Gary Chesla
“Let’s see,” Chervy replied, “The population of Salt Lake City was 2.5 million, the Vegas area had a population of 2 million, and Twin Falls had about 175,000 people. Those areas have been devastated by the virus, so even if the infected left the cities and went in ten different random directions, that could still be up to 250,000 of the infected coming our way,” Chervy replied.
“Man, that’s a lot of the walking dead,” Rogers added.
“If there are this many around here, I’d hate to be on the coast, with all the large cities on the coast, there would be then times as many people there,” Davis said. “How many bombs does it take to blow up that many of those things?”
Chervy replied, “I guess it depends on how close they are together. If they are spread out over a large area, it would probably take a lot. It’s also a lot different than bombing regular living targets. If a bomb wounds a living person, they are either disabled or they have enough sense to turn around and go back where they came from. You saw McDaniels, with the infected you could blow their arms off and they still keep coming. With targets like that, I’m not sure how effective our bombing runs are being. The Captain doesn’t tell me things like that.”
Rogers thought for a minute, “Cherv, are we going to have enough bombs to kill all the infected? I assumed the base has a large supply on hand, but this seems to be mission impossible if you ask me.”
“First of all, no one asked you,” Davis grinned. “Second, It’s not your job to think. It’s you job to watch the monitor and tell someone when you see something. Thinking is for officers.”
“At the rate we are losing officers, I just might end up running this base soon,” Rogers shot back. “I just want to know what’s going on.”
“Over Chervy’s dead body,” Davis laughed.
“I’d prefer we didn’t talk about that possibility,” Chervanak grinned. “The Doc told me he was concerned about the base having enough bombs and jet fuel after the Captain told us at the meeting about the military’s strategy to deal with all the dead. Doc thinks the infection is spreading faster than we are going to be able to kill them.”
“How many people lived around Reno and Carson City,” Rogers asked.
“Probably 500,000 or more,” Chervy answered.
Rogers just shook his head, “I’d say we are outnumbered about 100,000 to one."
The conversation was interrupted and all three men stood, snapped to attention and saluted as Captain Holman and two of his aides walked into the room.
At ease, men,” Captain Holman said as he walked up to Chervy.
“What can we do for you Captain?” Cherv asked.
“Well, first of all I wanted to tell you how helpful your reports have been,” the Captain said. “The satellite images have saved us a lot of time and fuel searching for the infected.”
“I’m glad we can contribute,” Chervy replied.
“I would also like for you to pull up sector four,” Captain Holman said. “I’ve read the reports from the pilots that went out on the search and destroy missions. I’ve also viewed some of the film taken by the planes cameras. Neither of these sources have given me clear picture of how our bombing runs are doing. The pilots come back saying that they blew the hell out of the infected, but the film I’ve seen doesn’t fully support their claims.
I was hoping to view the mission near Reno in real time and get a better overview of how our plans are being executed. Is what I’m requesting possible?”
“I believe we can do that, Sir,” Chervanak replied. “The satellites take pictures and transfers them to us in delayed intervals, but I believe with a few adjustments I can get you a live feed. I don’t believe I can get you both a live feed and a series of still photos for you to review later, if that will still be acceptable?”
“For this mission, just being able to observe a live feed will be sufficient,” the Captain smiled. “Looking at pictures are OK, but they don’t give you a feel for the battle. I can see a picture of where a bomb was dropped, but that doesn’t tell me how the target reacted to the explosion, how the flow of the infected was affected. I don’t know if you have been in combat Mr. Chervanak, but watching the reactions of those around you when a grenade goes off tells you if the men around you have what it takes to win the battle or if you should retreat and regroup.”
“No Sir,” Chervy replied. “I’ve never been in combat.”
“Let me tell you,” the Captain continued, “most times the feel of a battle, what your gut tells you is far more important than what you can see in a few pictures.”
Chervy nodded, “I’ll make the adjustments now for you Sir.”
“Good,” the Captain replied as he looked at his watch. “The F-18s should be arriving on site in a few minutes. I would like to get an overview before they arrive.”
Chervy typed instructions into the computer to adjust the satellite and alter the programming to tell the system to not take photographs but to transfer the view in real time.
A short time later, the view on the number one monitor changed from a different view every minute, to a near real time flow of the scene outside Reno.
“I believe this feed is the best I can do,” Chervy replied as a high-altitude view of the desert appeared with what looked to be small dark patches slowly moving around.”
“Is it possible to zoom in, at least close enough that I can see the individual movements of the infected?” the Captain asked.
Chervy began to type more instructions into the computer.
A moment later, the view began to zoom in closer to the action on the landscape below.
“Hold it there,” the Captain ordered. “This lets me see everything I want to see. I can see the overall battlefield, but yet I can make out the individual movements in each group.”
The Captain studied the screen, then turned to the man on his right, “Your analysis, Bob?”
“The first thing that hits me is how they are spread out,” Bob replied. “When they attacked the base, they were crowded much closer together, almost shoulder to shoulder. As they are crossing the desert, they are moving in the same general direction as the others, but there doesn’t seem to be anything drawing them together.”
“I see that,” the Captain noted. “Jim, anything that catches your attention?”
“I also noted their pattern,” Jim replied. “but I was just wondering why they are all going in that direction. Why did they choose that direction and not towards the west?”
“I wish I knew why they do anything at all,” the Captain replied.
“The squadron will be on site in twenty seconds, Sir,” Chervy said.
“Very good Petty Officer,” the Captain said as he and his two aides pulled up chairs and sat down in front of the monitor, as they waited to observe the attack on the infected.
A second later, they observed the first explosion as the planes began to drop their bombs and fire missiles on the roving gangs of the staggering infected bodies below.
After about fifty explosions, the planes turned and began their return trip to the base.
The Captain stared at the screen, evaluating the destruction of the infected, and the flow of the dead as they continued on their journey across the desert.
“Bob, your opinion of the effectiveness of the mission?”
“Not very effective, Sir,” Bob replied.
“Jim?” Captain Holman asked.
“I agree with Bob. With the way they are spread out, a million-dollar bomb only takes out around one hundred of the infected. The others continue to react as if they are out on a Sunday afternoon stroll. Their path is not altered by the explosions. Normal human targets would start to scatter from the explosions. You could herd human targets into a designated area and destroy them when they are all clumped together. The infected, except for those who suffer a direct hit, do not appear to be affected by the blast in any way,” Jim replied.
“Except, for those that fell into the craters created by the bombs,
” Bob added. “In fact, more of the infected were disabled by falling into the craters than we were able to blow up.”
“Unfortunately, I agree with your assessment,” the Captain said. “Let’s say each bomb we dropped resulted in destroying two hundred of the infected. We dropped sixty bombs to destroy and stop the infected from continuing to come in our direction. That would mean we destroyed around twelve-thousand of the infected out there today. I doubt we destroyed anywhere near that many, but let’s use that number for now. How many of the infected are still coming our way?”
“At least five times as many,” Bob replied.
Jim looked at the Captain and nodded in agreement, “I think we are going to need a hell of lot more bombs for this to work.”
“That’s not going to happen,” the Captain replied. “What we need is a more effective strategy.”
The Captain stood and looked at Chervy, “Can you give me a view around our base, say about a hundred miles out in every direction?”
Chervy typed in the instructions to realign the satellite.
The monitor blinked out and then a new view appeared.
Bob pointed to a large mass to the east and south of the base.
The Captain nodded.
“Petty Officer, would you please give me a print out of what is now on the screen?” the Captain asked.
“Yes Sir,” Chervy replied and hit the print key.
When the printer was done, Chervy got up and retrieved the copy for the Captain.
The Captain and his two aides got up and walked over to the door, “Please print me the view on the monitor now, ever twenty minutes and bring it to my office.”
Chervy, Rogers and Davis all stood at attention and saluted as the Captain opened the door.
The Captain returned the salute and left the room.
Rogers ran over to the monitor and stared at the screen.
“It looks like there are a lot of the infected moving this way.”
“Davis moved next to Rogers, “Hey Cherv, how long will it take the dead to get here?”
Chervy studied the screen, “They don’t walk very fast, but they do walk twenty-four hours a day and for some reason they seem intent on getting to Fallon. I would say we have maybe two days.”
Hangar Three
The doctor pulled the hood of his suit over his head and fastened the mask tightly over his face.
He pulled on his boots and slid them up over the pant legs of the hazmat suit he was wearing and wrapped a tie around his ankle to seal off the suit.
Then he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.
He tested his flashlight and then entered Hangar three.
Hangar Three had been converted into the base morgue.
Hangar Four had been converted into a secure area where the base was restraining their rapidly growing population of infected.
Many were in Hangar Four as a result of being involved in the battle to save the base and had become infected due to a scratch or bite they had suffered during the battle.
Many more and of the greatest concern, were the soldiers that had become infected from breathing the contaminated air after the battle.
Many reported to the infirmary to report a strange feeling that was taking over their body, however many others were afraid to tell anyone about their symptoms.
The result was soldiers dying and attacking others, further spreading the infection.
In three days, the number of uninfected on the base were outnumbered, three to one, and the problem showed no sign of slowing down.
The doctor walked into Hangar Three, closed the door and turned on his flashlight.
The base still had electricity, thanks to the emergency generators, but the doctor needed all the light he could get.
The doctor was here to examine the bodies laid out on the floor of the hangar.
These were the bodies of the infected that unlike most of the others, had appeared to have been killed.
Most of the infected, seemed immortal.
Out beyond the border of the base, many of the infected that had arms, legs and their bodies blown away, still struggled to get to the base.
The eerie sounds of moaning could be heard coming from off the base, twenty-four hours a day.
There were heads without bodies, clacking their teeth and moaning, the most unbelievable sight the doctor had ever seen.
In Hangar Three were bodies of the infected, in some cases, entire fully intact bodies that were, for lack of a better word, dead.
The doctor hoped to examine the bodies and find out why.
He also hoped beyond all odds, to learn something about the dead that could help the base survive.
The doctor began to shine his flashlight on the bodies.
He walked from one side of the hangar to the other end of the hangar and then back, looking at the bodies.
This was the most gruesome job the doctor had ever been involved with.
After walking down row after row of the bodies, listing the apparent wounds on each body, the doctor studied the list.
Nothing seemed to jump out at him.
The doctor decided to reexamine the bodies with the fewest wounds.
He decided it would be easier to determine what the fatal wound was, if there were fewer possibilities to consider.
The doctor looked at his list and picked seven bodies to reexamine.
He walked to each of the selected bodies and said out loud what their wounds were, hoping that hearing the words being said out loud would make something register in his mind.
“Head, arm, leg, torso,” Doc said.
“Arm torso, head,” Doc said at the second body.
“Leg and head,” Doc said at body three.
Torso and head,” Doc said at body four.
The doctor thought for a second, looked at his list of all the bodies and focused on the one injury that appeared on all of the bodies, it was the head.
“Could it be this simple,” Doc thought. “It makes sense. The head is the control center of the body. Even a dead body that moves has to have something telling the moving parts what to do. The dead that moved, moved with a purpose. All parts of the body were working together to achieve that goal. The head, why didn’t I think about this earlier, it is a basic function. I must be getting old. I didn’t recognize the Z virus either until Anderson pointed it out.”
The doctor continued to think, “The original Russian Z virus attacked the victim’s brain and drove the person insane. The mutated Z virus kills the body but must have retained much of its original focus, the human brain. Somehow, the virus must have enabled a part of the brain to continue to function at some low basic level. It could be functioning at some basic level or on pure simple animal instinct. A part of the brain could still be sending a low frequency electrical impulse to the muscles, causing the body to move.”
The doctor shook his head, “How the hell could the body, after dying, still be able to receive these impulses and move?”
The doctor knew it would take much research and study to get the answer to these questions. Time the doctor also knew he would never have to complete such research.
But he hoped today he may have discovered something that could improve his odds.
“Now I need to test this theory,” Doc thought.
As he thought, the idea that came to mind didn’t set well with him, but in all honestly, it would be an act of mercy.”
The doctor walked out of Hangar Three and walked across the runway to Hangar Four.
The groaning got louder as he walked closer to the hangar.
That sound, from the hundreds of men secured there, echoed throughout the larger hangar.
Doc walked up to the soldier that had the unfortunate job of guarding Hangar Four.
The doctor looked at the name tag on the uniform, “Hower, I would like you to come with me.”
“Where, Sir?” Hower asked cautiously.
“Inside the hangar,” the doctor replied as
he opened the door.
“But Sir,” Hower said. “I don’t have a suit like you, all I have is this mask. Is it safe for me to go in there?”
“You’re right,” Doc replied. “Just give me your gun.”
“My gun?” Hower asked, reluctant to give up his weapon.
“Look soldier,” Doc said. “I haven’t had much sleep the last few days and I know my mind isn’t functioning on all cylinders. But either you give me your gun or you come inside with me. I will only be a minute, I need to test something. It’s your choice.”
Hower looked at the door and listened to the moaning that filled the hanger and slowly handed the doctor his gun.
“Thank you,” the doctor said, then he opened the door and went inside.
He flipped the switch that turned on the lights inside the hangar.
The sheer amount of bodies, restrained and lying on the floor across the hanger, struggling to escape from their restraints, made the doctor’s heart sink at the sight.
He began to feel fear as all the eyes in the hangar began to turn towards him.
The doctor walked over to the first body that he didn’t recognize. He didn’t want to test his experiment on someone that he knew.
If the experiment didn’t work, he didn’t want the weight on his conscious for inflicting more pain on a suffering comrade.
The doctor knew that these men weren’t feeling any pain, at least as far as he could tell, but he also knew any doubt would weigh on him.
Doc walked over to the unknown man, raised the rifle and shot the struggling body in the head.
The back of the soldier’s head exploded and splattered across the floor behind the body.
The body fell still and stopped moving.
The doctor sighed in relief.
He walked over to a second man and fired the gun into the man’s head.