Rotters

by Carl R. Cart

  I turned completely around and slowly walked back to stand behind the captain, mesmerized by the carnage occurring before me.

  Sgt. Dyson fired from the prone position, squeezing off rounds from the big Barrett rifle again and again as a ragged stream of zombies staggered over the crest of the hill before us. Their heads exploded like burst water balloons, showering black blood and gray brain matter into the air. Hairy gibbets of skull and bone fragments littered the slope. The headless bodies continued to stumble down the slope to the left or right, or collapsed into a squirming heap as they tripped over the decapitated corpses piling up before them.

  A pair of zombies ran the gauntlet of lead and stumbled forward, moaning, their arms outstretched for their prey. Sgt. Dyson could not stop firing into the zombies cresting the hill lest they be overrun.

  The captain calmly let the zombies approach as he covered Dyson, firing in short bursts, adding to the carnage on the slope, and allowing the sniper to reload. The pair of zombies was almost upon them when the captain slapped in a fresh magazine, pulled and released the bolt, and fired a decapitating burst at point blank range into the zombie’s faces.

  Suddenly, it was over, as quickly as it had started. I realized I was holding my pistol in my hand, trying to pull the trigger. I had forgotten to flip off the safety. I lowered the gun, my hand shaking violently.

  The captain turned and walked over to me, his face a mask of rage. I realized I had messed up. I expected him to hit me, but instead he grabbed me by my neck and dragged me to the closest corpse. He thrust my face very close to it. The headless zombie grabbed blindly for me, the captain pulled me back and released me.

  “Don’t you ever disobey an order from me, again, you worthless fuck!” he shouted. “Sgt. Dyson and I just risked our lives to cover your escape, and you walked right back here, directly into the danger. Not to mention you could have shot one of us!”

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. Dyson looked up from collecting his and the captain’s empty magazines. “It was his first time, Cap,” he suggested.

  “Don’t ever do that again, Dr. Barry,” the captain growled. “You are the only chance we have against the zombies, and the virus. If you die, if they get you, we fail. Even if the rest of us survive, if you die, we are all dead! Got it?” He was calming down.

  “I understand,” I replied.

  “I know you weren’t prepared for this,” he continued. “But you have to man up and do the right thing. You are here. You have to find a cure. We’re depending on you. The whole world, the human race, is depending on you. I will not let this virus win. You will figure this shit out. End of story!”

  He walked away, up the hill towards the others. “Sgt. Dyson,” he commanded.

  Dyson helped me up. His face split in a grin. “Man, you are lucky that the captain likes you.”

  “Likes me?” I replied. “He just ripped my head off.”

  “Shit, that wasn’t no proper ass chewin’,” Dyson grinned. “Once I got my ass ripped for about a full hour by an old school drill sergeant. He almost made me cry.”

  I put away the scope and looked for the slides I had dropped earlier. They lay broken nearby. I gathered my field kit, and replaced my surgical tools.

  “Come on, Doc,” Dyson suggested. “We don’t want to piss off the captain again.”

  I gestured towards the pile of still twitching corpses. “Seems like a wasted opportunity, Sergeant.”

  “It’s too dangerous, Doc, and that gunfire is going to draw in more zombies.” He paused to look around. “We’re real close to that bunch we saw this morning. I bet you every one of them is turned around and headin’ back this way right now.”

  We trudged up the hill after the others, away from the track.

  “So what’s the captain’s story?” I asked.

  “He’s alright,” Dyson replied. “Typical officer; hard nosed, always chewing someone’s ass. He acts like a bastard, but he’s just getting the job done. I wouldn’t want to be leading this outfit.”

  “But why is this mission so important to him?” I prodded. “It’s like a personal vendetta.”

  “The captain’s wife died of cervical cancer,” Dyson explained. “Maybe to him, killing viruses is personal.”

  Our little group of humanity came back together after a short walk.

  The captain was animatedly talking to the mercenaries as we approached. I could tell by the way Robinson glared at me that I had gotten them into trouble. Blythe actually seemed somewhat amused. He grinned at me and shook his head as I passed by.

  Keyes stood apart, coiling connecters and repacking her equipment. She looked up at me. “What was that, back there?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied defensively.

  “You are one weird guy, do you know that, Barry?” she stated.

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I’ve heard that before.”

  We walked on through the afternoon. The sun rose high in the bright blue African sky and beat down on us mercilessly. I didn’t remember ever seeing a sky so blue. It was the blue you see sometimes in the early fall, right after a storm goes through and clears away all the pollution and crap we throw up there. Maybe I just wanted it to be that blue.

  I was trying really hard to appreciate the little things, since I figured I might not get another chance. I definitely wasn’t enjoying myself. I was melting. My deodorant wasn’t cutting it. If this kept up the zombies would be able to smell us a mile away.

  I chuckled at the thought, and then I started to consider it seriously. Could the zombies smell us? I probably wouldn’t be able to figure that one out, but I hoped they couldn’t.

  Just about the time I felt like I couldn’t go any further we saw the first tree on the horizon. We all steered towards it without having to be told to do so. It seemed close, but it took forty-five minutes to reach the damn thing, and finally sit down in the shade.

  I wasn’t used to being in the open, and the distances were deceiving. We all collapsed, panting and sweating, except for the captain, who remained as vigilant as ever. He stood just under the canopy, scanning the horizon with his binoculars.

  “Take five, people,” he croaked.

  After a few minutes Dyson relieved him, and the captain sat down with his back against the tree and closed his eyes for a moment. I walked over and sat down beside him.

  “Well, Captain,” I asked. “What do you think of our chances now?”

  “We’re doing okay,” he replied. “Everyone is still alive, and you got a chance to look at a zombie.”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t learn much,” I complained.

  “You will,” he assured me. “You have to.”

  He sat upright and pulled out a topographical map and his personal GPS unit. He turned the small handheld unit on and watched it for a moment. The GPS fixed on the satellites overhead and provided him with his exact position. The captain pushed his finger across the map until he had oriented himself. Then he checked the scale, and traced out a route.

  “We are roughly one hundred and three miles from Gatou, more or less.”

  “Ouch,” I retorted. “That’s a long way to go.”

  “Yes it is,” he replied. “We can make about twelve miles a day in the open, but we will drop to more like eight to ten a day once we enter the jungle. We will reach the edge of the rain forest in two days. Once we get in there the weather could really slow us down.” he concluded.

  “Awesome,” I added.

  “Captain, do you want to camp here?” Dyson asked hopefully.

  “No,” the captain replied. “We still have at least two hours of daylight, let’s move out.”

  Everyone got back to their feet with a chorus of groans and complaints. We walked on through the tall grasslands until the sun was a huge red ball low on the horizon. No zombies rose up to block our progress; we saw no sign of them the rest of the day.

  We began to see more and more trees as we progressed and the land began to undulate. />
  Finally, the captain held up his hand in a closed fist as we reached the top of a small rise. We all stopped.

  “This will do people,” he said.

  Blythe and Robinson quickly set up the perimeter defenses, while Sgt. Dyson walked the rise, peering about him in the gathering gloom.

  The captain set the shape charges while Keyes and I rigged-up the tarp.

  The captain had Keyes set up the communications array, and talked briefly to someone on the other end. Keyes brought me a copy of the report on the viruses we had photographed earlier. Three were known non-lethal strains; one labeled simply V73-3, was unidentified. At least now I had a suspect.

  Eventually, everyone gathered together and fished out MREs.

  “What did you get, Doc?” Dyson asked around a mouthful of crackers.

  I looked at my pre-packaged meal and read from the label. “Chicken and instant potatoes.” I replied.

  “That ain’t really chicken,” Dyson explained.

  “If it’s not chicken, what is it?” I inquired.

  “No one really knows, Doc,” he replied. “And them ain’t taters you’re eatin’ either.” Everyone laughed.

  “That is blatant false advertising,” I complained. “Can’t we do something about the food situation, Captain?”

  “Sure,” he agreed. “I can send Mr. Blythe out hunting for some fresh meat. I’m quite sure he could round up some monkey or snake. Of course, we couldn’t really eat it.”

  “Nice one, Captain,” Blythe quipped. “I could get you some baboon, Doc.”

  “The chicken is fine,” I replied. I had just stuck my spoon into the packet when the alarm went off.

  “Shit fire!” Dyson yelped. He sprang up, throwing the bolt on his KGP-9.

  The captain pulled out a powerful mag light and played it back and forth around the campsite into the darkness. Dozens of zombies were just outside the trip wires, closing in from all directions. The light reflected greenly from their dead eyes. They moved faster, and began to moan, attracted by the light.

  REQUEST FOR EXTRACTION DENIED.

  DESTROY COMMUNICATIONS ARRAY.

  Chapter 6

  09:13 p.m. Zulu

  The Savannah

  Central Africa

  Gunfire erupted from all around me as everyone began shooting into the mass of zombies and they began to pile up on the trip wires. The zombies tripped and fell, and as they struggled to rise were shot in the head. Finally, so many were down that the approaching zombies could cross atop the wriggling corpses lying over the wire.

  The captain thrust the light into my hands and opened up with his machinegun. I could hear Keyes screaming into the comm unit, begging for an immediate extraction. I involuntarily covered my ears against the machinegun fire all around me. Red flashes of light split the darkness as the sub-machineguns spat a deadly rain of fire towards the oncoming horde of undead.

  “Dr. Barry!” the captain screamed.

  “What?” I screamed back.

  “See if there is a direction with fewer zombies!” he commanded.

  “Okay!” I yelled over the carnage. I swung the flashlight around wildly, looking for an avenue of escape. I quickly ascertained that most of the zombies were coming from the east, in the direction that Robinson was firing. Only a few were still climbing the wire towards Dyson’s side.

  “Doc, talk to me!” the captain shouted.

  “We can get out on Dyson’s side,” I shouted back.

  “Everyone cover your ears and close your eyes!” the captain ordered.

  The shape charges went off with a deafening roar that lit up the night. I could see the afterimages through my eyelids.

  Then Dyson was helping me up; I didn’t realize I had been knocked to the ground. He grabbed my pack and pulled me by my arm into the darkness. We clambered over the dismembered zombies and ran raggedly onward. I was quickly out of breath, and Dyson had to manually pull me along. Finally, we collapsed to the cold ground.

  Capt. Christopher was there immediately, checking to make sure I was unhurt.

  I looked around into the darkness. “Is everyone okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” the captain replied. “Come on, we can’t stay here,” he commanded.

  “You have got to be kidding,” I moaned.

  “On your feet, soldier,” Dyson grunted, pulling me up. He handed me my pack and helped me get it back on.

  We walked all night, with Sgt. Dyson holding me upright whenever I tried to fall down. Blythe had taken point, having the most experience in Africa. Whenever we tried to stop the zombies would catch up to us. Somehow, they were able to sense us in the darkness, and we were now low on ammunition.

  “Capt. Christopher,” I groaned.

  “Let me guess,” he shot back. “You want to call in the helicopter.”

  “If you would be so kind,” I replied.

  “Sorry, Doc, the comm unit is back there with the zombies,” he explained.

  “Shit,” I moaned.

  “Don’t worry,” the captain added. “We can be resupplied as soon as the sun comes up.”

  We continued to walk; we had no choice. At least with Blythe leading us, we were moving in the right direction, closer to the village.

  After what seemed like an eternity, it began to be light enough to see the rising sun, a bloody smear against the dim sky.

  Everyone collapsed. Dyson struggled to his feet and painfully limped back in the direction we had come. He had switched back to his fifty-caliber rifle, and stood cradling it in his arms while he scanned the hills behind us for movement.

  I sat upright and looked around. Everyone was wrecked. We were all covered in mud and my clothes were sweat-stained and stinking. Some nasty substance covered my boots up to the ankles. I absentmindedly identified it as a mixture of blood, feces and brain matter.

  Keyes didn’t look nearly as hot as she had before. The captain had explained that he was disappointed she had lost the comm gear, and I could tell she had been crying. Robinson and Blythe looked like they had walked through a slaughter-house. Our hygiene was quickly becoming a health concern, due to our continuing encounters with the zombies. I pointed this out to the captain. At this point I could probably find a sample of the virus on my pants leg.

  “Anything back there?” the captain asked.

  “Negative, Cap!” Dyson replied.

  “Keep your eyes open, everyone.” The captain said wearily. He walked a short distance away and pulled a pair of smoke flares from his jacket. He chose one and ignited it, then tossed it to the ground. A dense cloud of purple smoke hissed forth and rose in a serpentine column into the sky. He then walked back, and collapsed to the ground. “If we can stay here long enough, we should be re-supplied by airdrop in about two hours,” he said wearily.

  “What if the zombies come back?” Keyes moaned.

  “Then we run in a circle,” the captain laughed.

  I don’t remember closing my eyes but what seemed a few seconds later Sgt. Dyson was shaking me awake. I could dimly hear the engines of the drop plane as it receded over the horizon. I slowly got up and stretched my legs. Everything hurt.

  “Come on, sleeping beauty,” Dyson said. He pushed me towards an open crate.

  Blythe was standing there, as naked as the day he was born. The captain was using a hand pumped pressure sprayer to hose him down, while he covered himself with the sterilizing foam. Robinson and Keyes were both putting on fresh clothes nearby.

  “Damn you, Dyson,” I complained, rubbing my eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” he shot back.

  “You woke me up after Keyes got dressed.”

  “Oh yeah,” he dissembled. “She looked pretty good. But I thought you needed a little more sleep.”

  “You, sir, are a real bastard,” I told him.

  “Naw,” he shot back. “I knew who my Daddy was. Mamma always said he was her first cousin.” He walked away laughing.

  I gladly stripped out of my fetid clot
hing and allowed the captain to hose me off. Being naked in front of other people didn’t bother me too much; I was a doctor after all. Keyes politely walked to another crate and set up her new communications gear as I got dressed.

  Dyson and Robinson stood nearby, loading nine-millimeter ammunition into spare magazines for their sub-machine guns.

  Once I had on clean clothing and had found something to eat, things didn’t seem so bad. I rummaged through the MREs until I found some instant coffee, and used my new camp stove to heat some bottled water.

  I took a minute to consider my situation while I ate my breakfast. I had seen the zombies up close; a little too close actually, but I could not get my head around how they operated. It just didn’t make any sense. How could a dead body, without respiration or blood flow, still be capable of movement? I needed to see another one.

  The captain approached me; he had changed into a fresh uniform and boots. I handed him a cup of the government’s excuse for coffee. I knew what he was about to say before he began.

  “Dr. Barry, I know this has been rough, but I would like you to consider giving me more time.”

  “Alright,” I replied, “if you can find a place where I can get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised.

  “And,” I added, “a decent cup of coffee.”

  The captain pulled his topographic map from a jacket pocket and held it out for me to see. “I checked our position. The zombies drove us a little off track, but basically we were moving in the right direction. We covered about ten miles during the night, so we are just east of this crossroads, here.” He pointed to a tiny dot on the map. “There will be a government refueling station there, but it is so small that it really makes no sense to try to detour around it. There may be zombies there, but there could be zombies anywhere. I hope to find some place to hide, so we can all get some rest,” he explained. “Plus, they’re supposed to have a Starbucks.”

  He folded up his map and gripped my shoulder. “You’re doing good, Doc.”

  Once everyone was dressed and re-supplied we set out again. It was only a mile to the crossroads. We pushed through some thick brush and walked out onto a modern looking black top highway. Unfortunately, it ran east to west, and we needed to travel south. We could only follow it as far as the refueling station.