by Mark Tufo
I walk along the line of Humvees, looking inside each one. More shell casings lie thick on the floors of each one with dried blood spattered throughout, reminiscent of the security booth. I do a quick check inside each to see if the mounted guns have any ammo left. No luck. I manage to find an ammo can sitting in the driver-side floorboard of the second Humvee. Opening it, I see it is about half-full of 5.56mm rounds. I pull it out and follow along the line. Coming to the last Humvee, I reach into the driver’s compartment and turn the start switch. A moment later, the orange light comes on letting me know the glow plugs are warm.
Very nice, the battery still works.
I jump in, set the ammo can in the floor next to me, and turn the starter switch over. The engine cranks and comes to life after a few revolutions.
Way cool.
Looking at the gauges, everything seems to be working fine and there’s plenty of fuel. I close the door and do that wonderful three-point turn a few times until I can avoid the other vehicles. I drive the Humvee over the curb and grass, park beside the Jeep, and shut it down. I look and listen to see if my antics have drawn any attention.
One more thing to do, I think, sighing heavily and not looking forward to it.
I walk back to the booth and step inside, trying my best to ignore the carnage within. Reaching down, I grab the black, plastic M-4 stock, and pull it to me. The bolt is back. I remove the magazine and find it empty as suspected. Sliding the magazine back in, I bend down to the separated arm and hand to pick up the pistol but the hand doesn’t want to let go of it just yet. I am finally able to pry the forefinger out of the trigger guard and then, look to the combat vest still secured to the body and see a couple of magazines poking out of their compartments. I take the carbine and pistol out, and look on the ground beside the Humvees.
Ah, there we go, I think, strolling over. Several empty magazines lie on the ground by the front wheels. I should have noticed that before.
Gathering everything up, I walk to the front and set it in the passenger side of the Humvee.
Oh crap, I have to get back to the kids, I think, closing the passenger door. Otherwise, I may find they have actually driven back to the house.
Looking at my watch, I see 0820. I have been here about twenty minutes, time to get back and then, finish up here. I drive the Jeep back to the gate and see them standing on the side of the road as I round the bend. I wanted to bring the Humvee just to see the expressions on their faces, but I could also see them jumping in the car and taking off thinking security forces were approaching. That would be great fun, chasing them all of the way back to the house and starting the trek over.
“There’s no one manning the gates,” I tell them after arriving back. “I parked a Humvee at the gate, and we can transfer the gear from the car into it and drive that instead.”
“Do I get to drive it?” Robert asks with a not-too-well-concealed grin.
“No, I’ll drive it and you take the Jeep,” I answer as he hangs his head in mock disappointment. Well, he pretends the mock part, but I know he really does want to drive it.
“Let’s head up as before. Watch the road, there are some bodies lying on it but you can maneuver around them,” I say. We get back into our vehicles and proceed through the gate parking in my previous location.
“Dad, there are other ones we can drive,” Robert says, nodding over to the parked Humvees.
“What? And leave my Jeep just sitting here. I don’t think so,” I reply and take a step toward the booths.
“But—” he starts, but stopping immediately as my head whips around toward him. He doesn’t complete the rest of his sentence. “Okay, Dad.”
“You guys unload the stuff in the Honda into the back of the Humvee. I’ll be right back,” I say.
At the booth with the corpse lying in it, I step inside. I don’t really want to go through with this and consider leaving the vest there, but it will come in handy. If this were a fighter base, or I had time to find the security detachment building, I could easily find another, but you take what you can get. I bend down by the side of the body and keep my eyes focused on the vest as much as possible. This is not going to be easy to get off just by pulling the arms through so I take my folding blade out and snap it open. The upper arms are being held onto the shoulder by tendons, the muscle structure, and skin in back. I pull the left socket bone away and slice my knife through the tissue, separating the arm bones away from the body. I do the same to the right side with my stomach doing flips. Undoing the front clasp, I lay the right vest front out on the floor, grab hold of the left side, and pull. The body rolls to the right as I lift and pull. The head stays in place for most of the way and then starts following the body before bending backward with the rear of the head almost touching the back. The body flips over and the vest comes free, the head flips forward and comes to a rest looking over the left shoulder. I scramble out and upend my breakfast behind the booth.
“Alright, fuck it,” I address the group, coming back to the front. All heads turn from loading the last of the gear. “Robert, go get the Humvee on the right. If you can manage to get it over here without hitting a building, running over any of us, or hitting any wildlife, you can drive it to the flight line.”
“Yeah!” Robert says with his eyes lighting up, and he walks quickly over to get it.
“Wait,” I say before he gets very far. “Come here. I’ll show you how to start it.” He gives me a confused look, trying to judge whether I am joking or not. “It’s a diesel and they start differently.”
Throwing the vest onto the passenger seat, I show him the start switch and light, explaining to him that diesels don’t have spark plugs but glow plugs that need to heat up.
“The orange light tells you when the plug is warm and you can crank it,” I tell him, finishing with the mini diesel lesson.
He walks behind the booths and disappears. I hear an engine crank up a short time later and see the rear of the Humvee emerge from behind the checkpoint as he backs up slowly. He then turns down the lane to the visitor’s center, through the parking lot, and catches the lanes back by the bend in the road to where we are. I sigh heavily, part of it from the fact that he didn’t hit anything, part of it knowing that my Jeep and I will soon part company, and another from thinking that some things are just ingrained in our mind. We are going to have to start thinking outside of some of the aspect of civilization we are apparently now leaving behind.
“You could have just driven over the curb,” I say, upon his return from his extended scenic road trip and nod to where I had driven over it earlier.
“Oh. Yeah, I guess I could have,” Robert replies.
I can tell there is a bit of glee in his eyes that he has just driven, and was going to drive, a Humvee. There is some pride and chest puffiness as well. I see he wants Michelle to be impressed.
We finish loading the gear. I drive the Jeep to the visitor’s center and park it in an empty spot. No, I didn’t go over any curbs. This is my Jeep after all. I make sure I have my cell phone, the battery powered charger for it, and look around to see if we have everything.
Ugh, the kids left the toolbox so I grab it out of the back. Setting it on the ground, I climb back into the Jeep for a moment.
“See you later, my friend,” I say softly, patting the top of the dash. “I’ll be back.”
Climbing out, I grab the toolbox and put the keys in my zippered sleeve pocket. With the sun starting to warm the air, I start back to the checkpoint.
Returning to the Humvees, I grab the 5.56mm magazines. “Here, you can help me load the magazines,” I say, handing one to each of them. Unloading the ammo can, I set it on the ground.
“Make sure you only load twenty-nine in each one,” I add, and we gather around and load up the eight magazines I found.
“Okay, let’s move out. We have a lot to do and the day is moving on. I doubt we’ll be able to get out of here today. Bri, I want—” I start to say.
“Why are
n’t we leaving today?” Robert interrupts.
“A couple of reasons. First, we need to plan our legs around flying and arriving during the day if at all possible. That way, we can fuel up when we get to each destination. Secondly, I want the flight to be during the day in case we have a problem and have to land. I’m not certain any airport lighting or navaids are working, so I need to be able to find an airport and land in daylight. Plus, we have to flight plan. Also, I have to learn the new aircraft so I’ll have to go through the manuals and checklists if we can find them, and take it up for a spin to get used to flying it.”
“Now, if Robert is done interrupting, Bri and Nic, you are with me. Robert and Michelle, you take the second Humvee. Follow a little behind. If we meet anyone and have to stop, you park a short distance away. Be ready to turn around and get the hell out of here if anything goes wrong. Ready?”
They all nod and we board the Humvees. Nicole is in front with me and Bri is in the back. We start up and head around the checkpoint. Passing by the other parked Humvees, I do my best to maneuver through the piles of bodies, but I am unable to avoid all of them. We ride over some like driving over a speed bump, only, these speed bumps have a little give to them. The bodies decrease in number the farther away from the checkpoint we get, until I can maneuver without running over any more ‘speed bumps’.
I continue driving slowly, farther into the base and toward the morning sun with Robert about twenty-five yards behind. We pass by a golf course to our left and buildings begin to appear on either side of us. I am constantly looking for any sign of life, but there is only the occasional bird crossing the road ahead or riding the air currents above. It’s like driving through a ghost town. There are no cars on the streets or people walking on the sidewalks. No one is standing outside a building taking a smoke break or running errands. The building windows stare back as if in a surrealistic dream. I take a left onto another major road knowing the flight line lies at the north end of the base. Buildings continue along the road with their large brown signs outside denoting what unit or service they once housed. A three-story building appears to our left, set back from the road with a large parking lot and open fields surrounding it. The signpost outside reads ‘McChord AFB Hospital’.
I pull to a stop at the entrance staring at the structure. There are several cars in the parking lot, more than I have seen at any of the other buildings. That’s to be expected, though, and keeps with the general trend I noticed on the way up and the assumptions I have made.
“What are you doing, Dad?” Bri asks from the back seat.
“Thinking,” I answer.
I want to go inside and check things out for a couple of reasons. The first is there are medical supplies we could use in there, and the second is that I figure if anyone has some idea of what happened or some information on these things, it would be a military hospital.
There must be some sort of report floating around in there, I think, with only the idling motor keeping my thoughts company. I would guess with the hospital administrator.
There might even be some information on bases overseas, although, it may only contain reports from other Air Force bases and units. I am really only interested in Army units and one in particular. However, any information on what we are dealing with will be beneficial. I sit contemplating the risks and time involved versus information. The seconds on my watch tick slowly by as thoughts and plans streak through my mind. Finally deciding, I put the Humvee into drive and turn left into the hospital, looking in the rearview to see Robert following.
Pulling around to the emergency entrance on the south side, I park a short distance from the doors. The first four rows of parking places are filled with cars and trucks, as was the main entrance parking lot. It’s not as packed as the civilian hospitals with their traffic jams, but it’s still busier than the other buildings. An ambulance is parked under the covered drop off by the entrance with its back doors open. I get out and head around to the back, watching Robert and Michelle exit their vehicle, and hear the doors shut from the other side indicating Nicole and Bri have exited as well.
“What are we doing here?” Robert asks.
“Medical supplies and hopefully some info on what we’re dealing with,” I answer, pulling out the combat vest, the dried blood almost blending in with the camouflage. Putting the vest on, I adjust the straps for a more comfortable fit.
I slip magazines into pouches as Robert asks, “So, what’s our plan?”
“You all stay here. I’m going in alone,” I answer.
The number of cars present indicates that there are a few people inside, either alive, dead, or one of those transformed things. I don’t want to have to worry about the kids in a larger building like this.
“I’m not going in far and I won’t be long,” I add.
Finishing with the magazines, I duct tape the cylindrical flashlight to the M-4 as near to barrel alignment as I can and make a mental note that the center of the light is a couple of inches to the left of where any bullet will strike. I test the light to assure myself of its brightness and put the tape roll on my left wrist again. Sliding a magazine into the lower receiver, I hit the bolt release and thumb the selector to ‘safe’. I glance at my watch and note the time.
“Okay. It’s 09:10. If I’m not back by 10:00, head back to Grandma’s. Don’t come in after me. If someone does come by or you see someone, try to hide as best as you can but do not, under any circumstances, draw weapons. If they see you, do what they say and tell them the truth. Don’t go making anything up. If you tell them I’m inside, they’ll wait here until I come out so we won’t be separated. Any questions?” I ask.
“What about if we just cover the doors like we did at Freddie’s?” Robert asks.
“No, I have this one. You just stay here and don’t go exploring,” I respond.
I pass the rear of the ambulance to the emergency entrance room doors. The back end of the ambulance is empty with the stretcher missing and there are small pools of dried blood on the floor.
I’ll grab the med supplies out of here as well, I think, turning once again to the doors.
The main doors are double glass doors that slide open automatically with a glass, push-open door flanking each side. Approaching from the right, I see that quite a bit of ambient light reaches inside illuminating a black and white-checkered linoleum floor. I kneel by the red brick wall and peek through the right door. The room opens up to the left and the right with a hallway leading off into darkness directly across the room from me. A large nurse’s station abuts the back wall to the left of the hallway entrance and is dimly lit by the radiant light. The left and right walls are shrouded in darkness.
I reach over to the pull bar on the right door and give it a tug. The door gives a fraction of an inch before stopping with a metallic thud.
Okay, I try pushing.
Same thing. It’s locked. I sidle over to the pneumatic doors keeping my eyes on the interior. I don’t expect the doors to automatically open, and they don’t, but I try pulling them apart. They don’t budge. I try the left door but it only gives the same response as the one on the right.
Righty-O then. Another tape job coming up.
I am a little worried, as I have snuck onto a military base, taken a couple of their vehicles, weapons, and am about to break into a building. If I do run into anyone on base, they are going to be slightly displeased. And, with what I am sure is a martial law status going on, that displeasure could sting.
Wait until I take one of their airplanes. They are going to positively love that!
Leaning my gun against the brick wall, I peel off strips of duct tape and apply it to the lower pane of the glass door on the right. Taking out my knife, I bash the handle end against the glass. My knife rebounds without any resounding crack or shattering of glass. Another bash gives the same response.
Damn, this has always worked before, I think, giving it one more smack.
“Okay, you son of a bitch! Be th
at way!” I mutter as I turn and walk back to the ambulance.
Climbing into the back, I lift the bench seat lining the right compartment wall. Inside are folded blankets and small pillows. I grab three of the blankets and a pillow, close the lids, and walk back to the titanium door that has cleverly disguised itself as glass.
I fold two of the thin blankets and slip a pillow between them. I put the pillow sandwich against the glass and hold it there with my shoulder. Taking my Beretta out, I drape the other folded blanket over it and my hand. Putting the draped pistol against the blankets on the door, I remove my shoulder and fire. The shot is loud but muffled substantially by the blankets. There is no rebounding echo off the buildings, so I know the shot couldn’t have been heard from very far away. I chip away the rest of the glass starting at the bullet hole until the entire pane is removed.
Grabbing my M-4, I turn on the flashlight and pan it around the room. The light comes to rest on several bodies lying on the floor. From this low angle, I can’t really see much of the room, but of what I can see, nothing moves. I crawl into the room and stand. The odor hits immediately. It smells exactly like the inside of the truck I opened yesterday, blood, vomit, and feces. It’s like a solid cloud permeating the room, gagging me. Taking short, shallow breaths, I shine the light around the room. Molded plastic chairs line every wall except where the nurse’s station is. Wooden, swinging double doors are set into the far right wall. The hallway across the room and in front of me stretches away past the limit of my light, tapering off into unrelieved blackness.
The bodies scattered across the waiting area are in the same state as the corpse in the guard post. They have been stripped of most of the skin and tissue with only small shreds of tendon and muscle clinging to the bone. Most still have their hair attached to the top of their heads. Pieces of entrails stretch away from some of the bodies and the floor is covered with dried blood. I have seen many, many things in my life, badly burned bodies, disembowelments, bodies of villagers killed, mutilated and stacked like cordwood, bodies thrown from speeding vehicles, but never anything like this. The darkened room, with only my light illuminating the ruin as it pans its way around the room, coupled with the overwhelming stench, is enough for me. I scramble out of the door and lean against the brick wall letting the nausea subside.