“John, you might actually get this. My philosophy, like color television, is all there in black and white. He laughed, turned, and looked out at the sea. “Who the hell knows.”
Chapter 16 ~ The Battle for Long Island
June 26th
It was on the sixth morning post-nuking that my time came. Five a.m., there was a knock on the door. When I answered, a very large marine stepped into my room.
“Pardon me, sir. Please put these on.” He handed me a pile of clothes.
“I’ll be back in ten.” He placed some boots on the floor.
“Excuse me, but back in ten for what?”
“To make sure you find the chopper.”
“And where am I going?”
“You’re going to Long Island, buddy. You’re going to war.” So I changed and went to war.
I had been in a helicopter before but nothing like this. It was a Sea Knight, the kind with two rotors! Way cool. The guy next to me showed me how to use the headphones.
“Where we going?”
“Someplace called Gardiners Island. It’s out on the north end of Long Island. We took it two days ago and now it’s our advanced base for the operation. We thought it was going to be a nice soft way of getting us close and safe. Five square miles, privately owned, and just a hop, skip and a jump to the Hamptons. It turned out about every third person in the area thought the same thing. Last body count was somewhere north of thirteen thousand.”
“Thirteen thousand in five square miles?”
“That’s what I heard.”
“Two days? Who got that job?”
“The marines. The navy proper is still getting all the pussy stuff and by two days, I mean boots on the ground days. We spent a week getting them close to the shore and picking them off. We eventually got them to crowd some areas and we could use bigger stuff. Then the boys went in. If you ask me, they should have waited a day or two. What’s the rush? The bonfires are still burning in some places. I hear it looks fucking medieval.”
“Yeah, I read the initial reports. Didn’t like the way some of them seemed to hide in the woods. We still go in twelve hours?”
“As far as I know.”
The report was essentially a hastily assembled timeline of events from the shore operations, landing on Gardiners to the cessation of hostilities. Basically, it’s what I expected. I just never expected to be going there. No one was really ready for the single minded ferocity of the few that were left. Casualties were from stupid mistakes and just a general underestimation of the enemy. We would learn, but we better be quick. What jumped out at me were a few references to some wooded areas that had been cleared, suddenly sprouting a couple of dozen zombies. One report questioned whether some of the attacks were coordinated. The couple of general reports I had access to from the Nantucket and Vineyard campaigns didn’t mention anything unusual like this.
We landed, and holy shit, I was back in the USA. The place was total controlled chaos. Stuff and people were everywhere. The only thing I could think of was that all this was part of a vast movie set. I kept looking for some camera guy on this big boom filming the whole thing. I didn’t have much time to gawk and was quickly hustled to the front of a really big tent filled with soldiers.
Roland was standing in front of a large wall map talking tactics and getting everyone oriented on the mission; my mission. I’m going back. I felt like a five year old who has been whining about a real bike for the past year and finally gets one on his birthday only to realize he now has to learn to ride it. With my khakis and beard, it was impossible to blend in, so I concentrated on the map and was trying to make sense of arrows, triangles, dots, and all kinds of stuff; essentially what we are supposed to do, when I heard my name called.
“Dr. Patrick, do you have anything to add?” I really didn’t but I knew he wanted me to say something. I guess I needed to validate my presence. So I stood and looked out at a sea of heavily armed green and started rambling.
Okay, let’s see. “I guess the only point I want to keep reminding everyone of is that we are facing an enemy that has no ideology, no country, no family, no cowardice, and definitely no fear. I have no idea why they do what they do, but they are very good at it. We need to be better.” Some slight murmurs of approval. “Never assume you are dealing with some dumb fucks out looking for brains.” Good, more approval.
“Remember, a head shot will end it for them, but, and this is really important, if you sever the spinal cord they will go down, be a much reduced threat and the center of mass a hell of a lot easier a target.” I stopped. Even though the majority of these guys were officers, all I saw was mostly kids all ramped up and ready to kick some zombie ass. Yes, all of them were far better fighters than I would ever be, but none was really aware of what was waiting for them on shore. I just hoped to hell I was.
“Firepower is the answer. Stick together and if you have a side arm, remember to use it. Always remember there are a shitload of zombies out there - count your shots.” I guessed a little levity wouldn’t hurt, so I continued. “Having faced the undead and actually pissed my pants in the process, I guess the only important thing to remember is, don’t panic.” I didn’t expect many to get the Doug Adams reference, but when no one did, I started to feel out of touch and old. I was turning to sit down when a hand in the back went up.
“Sir, are the bites really one hundred percent fatal?” Why do people always keep asking me this question? What part of yes is so complicated?
“All the recent data suggests, yes, but there are a few very credible reports of rapid amputation for certain types of bites in stopping transmission. I’ve read over a dozen cases and they all involved fingers or hands, one case of a toe, don’t ask me. And when I say rapid amputation, I mean heart beats.”
Once again from the back, “Do they have to break the skin to get you infected?”
Okay, now that is a good question. “Hu…that’s a good point. Actually, I don’t know. I assume the infectious agent is transmitted directly from the saliva into the victim via the breaking of the skin from the bite, but um…I did have a chance to see if it could be passed other ways, that uh, that didn’t work out.”
Now, from someone near the front, “Sir, what happened?”
“Allison died before the virus could take effect and I didn’t have time to wait and…” I realized that I was talking to myself. “Well, I guess what I am trying to say is, stay as far away from them as possible.” With that, I made a beeline for my chair.
Someone else spoke but I didn’t listen and eventually they were dismissed. I hung around for about an hour talking with various people, and by the time I did leave, the tent things had started to happen at an incredibly fast rate. It was like this weird dream where all of a sudden everyone knows where they are going and what they need to do, but you. I stood around and felt left out, but very impressed by the show. A couple of jets flew and I had this American Patriotic moment; filled with pride, I knew we could do this, let’s kick some ass!
Eventually, someone directed me to an area where a few medics were organizing a field hospital. I tried to find out what I could do, but as it turns out, absolutely nothing. So I just hung out and tried to blend in.
“Dr. Patrick?” I turned and looked into the chest of a very vast Marine.
“Yes.” He must have been fifteen. How can you grow that big and be so young?
“Sergeant Roland sent me to get you, sir. You doing okay? Any Questions? Fitting in?”
That would be, yes, lots, and what? “What’s up?”
“Well, I’m here to take you to the Big Dance, sir, the name’s Calvin.”
“Well, Calvin, name’s John. You know, when they said twelve hours, I thought that meant I would get my marching orders in twelve hours.” He laughed, we shook, but I was serious.
“So, Calvin, have you seen one in the flesh?”
“No. Just some poorly made documentaries, TV news, internet, and of course, your video. But I am looking
forward to making my acquaintance.”
WTF? My video? Has everyone seen me kill someone I love?
“Follow me. Oh, the Sergeant sent you a gift.” He handed me my shotgun. Once again, I was snapped back, “Well, alright.” I had my Mossberg back. At least I think it’s mine. Hell’s bells, I AM back in the game.
“He said you would know what to do with it.”
“Yes, I do, Calvin.”
“Just follow me.”
The two of us walked down a clean, straight row of large olive colored tents full of guys packing/unpacking, talking on cell phones and radios, or looking at computers. Everyone seemed to be in motion. We got to yet another large tent and entered. Calvin looked around and walked over to a guy sitting in a corner, talked to him a bit and motioned me over.
“Dr. Patrick, this is Corporal Calati. He’s a medic and your sidekick on this safari. If you listen to him and do what he says when he says, you probably won’t get eaten and you might not get shot.”
“Thanks! I’ll remember that. Be careful man!” We shook hands and the big guy walked away.
“So you’re the dude from the video.” The guy in the corner was yet another kid; had to be early twenties at best, about my height and one huge nose. No really, it has to be mentioned that his nose was indeed significant. He was also a medic.
“Yeah, I’m John.”
“Bartholomew. Call me BC.” He stood up and held out his hand.
“Good to meet you, BC. What are we going to do?”
“To be honest, I don’t really know. I was ordered to provide you suitable orientation, protection, direction and explanation, the kind of shit a PR guy would normally do. Like, we need a PR guy right now.” BC turned to put his pack on. Wait, I’ve heard that accent before.
“I’ll give you some technical details on what’s happening and get you around so you can observe.”
“Observe, well that’s a job I might be qualified for. BC, aren’t you supposed to be doing some medic stuff?”
“Well, as far as I know, the enemy is not bombing us, setting off IEDs or in general, firing back, and if you do get injured by a close encounter, well, not much I can do. There are plenty of us around for the twisted ankles and skinned knees. You and I get to watch the show.” He motioned to a green and black backpack on the floor.
“That’s yours; sleeping bag, sleeping pad, water bottle, small stove, food, socks, that kind of stuff. I’m told you are familiar with roughing it.”
“Yup.”
“Oh, the bag next to it is a change of clothes. Time to lose the Banana Republic look. I hope you like black.”
“Sounds like a plan. Any chance I can score a little more ammo, just in case we have a close encounter.” Yes, I am fully aware I am in the middle of a massive military camp, but nine shots do not cut it for me, at least it feels like nine. If I stay anal, I will stay alive.
“Follow me and all will be revealed.” We exited the tent and headed for the shore.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Rhode Island, East Providence.” Yes, I did know that accent.
“No shit! I grew up in Warwick.”
“Holy Crap! Mobsters and lobsters.”
“Where the debris meets the sea!” We turned to each other and did the whole upper forearm embrace, very gladiator-like.
“You know The Hill?” He asked. Holy crap, how could I have not known the accent?
“Know The Hill? Are you busting my balls? Come on, The Blue Grotto, Cassarino’s. I love Angelo’s, chicken parm, stewed calamari, shopping for that crazy ravioli; lobster ravioli! Damn, going to be a while before that comes back, if ever.”
“Yeah, I could go for a nice sausage manicotti right now. What school?”
“Hendricken, you?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I went to LaSalle! Hendricken, no shit. I went to RIC, B.S. in Biology.”
“URI, B.A. in Anthropology. Nice to see we are putting those degrees to good use.”
“How many have you killed? Or whatever you call putting them down. I’m just asking, you know.”
“That’s okay, putting them down, actually a good way of looking at it. I don’t know how many, maybe thirty to forty, somewhere around there. So BC, how is all this going to go down?”
“All the activity you’ve been hearing about the last few days have been probes and feints, trying to gauge what kind of shit we’re getting into. Get the natives nice and restless.”
“And?”
“And the shit is deep. Those fuckers are everywhere. Intel indicates that where you see one, expect a thousand in ten to fifteen minutes. We’re just blasting everything that moves.” He pulled out a couple of 1:100 K topo maps. A thousand in ten minutes? One hundred a minute? Not a bad plan if you give it enough time.
“The press starts to grind and we push them into a radioactive hell. We start with Montauk, Napeague and Amagansett. If all goes well, this group will move on to the Hamptons by the end of day one. Another force is assigned Greenport. Another to Sag Harbor. You, my Rhode Island brother, are going to the islands.”
I looked at the map. What we were going to do was invade the north end of the island, take out the major population centers and move south. Shelter Island was on the tip of Long Island and no bridges, just ferry service. It looked to be about a dozen square miles in size. The location and amount of roads indicated a fairly large population and from what we saw on Gardiners, the numbers will easily be in the thousands, if not tens of thousands. I know there had been lots of planning and surveillance, but my guess is that we were really going to stir up a hornet’s nest. The only real question is how many bugs. I guess the idea was to get some defendable areas and learn large-scale zombie land warfare, with air and sea support, on the fly. The guys that drew the short straw were going to Sag Harbor. Everyone else had limited fronts since most sides were protected by water. Sag Harbor was going to be wide open, a real Wild West Show with only the bay covering your ass. And, as BC explained in detail, it must have been ordained by God that the mission went to the 1st Marine Division, 5th and 7th regiments. Add it to their history; Vera Cruz, Guadalcanal, the fucking Chosin Reservoir, Tet Offensive, and now The Battle For Long Island.
“BC, how many are on Shelter?”
“Last I heard, it was ten thousand and we are not getting time to draw most of them to the beach.”
“Ten thousand? How many are we attacking with?”
“We will be in company C, going to start here, Ram Island.” He stuck a big stubby finger onto a scary small spot. I had to multiply what I was seeing since I was used to the standard USGS 1:24 K and far superior to what was guiding us. I was about to make an inane comment, when he pulled out a large flat computer tablet, turned it on, and opened something akin to Google Earth, but way better.
“Holy shit, BC.”
“Cool, ain’t it? We land about here and go between these houses. The gates and walls will not be an issue, turn right, and cruise the road to here. We’re gonna set up a defensive position here and defend this spot. Oh, and right here, is where we will watch the action and it’s also a bar, what are the odds? You know what I mean?”
“How many soldiers are in a company?” The computer tour gave some relief since the island was small and protected by a nice narrow and highly defendable road that connected to the main island.
“Ours should have around a hundred and fifty. Captain Wallace is in charge, but you and I will hang with Sergeant Roland. I hear you guys know each other.”
“Yes, I do, great guy. I look forward to working with him.”
BC continued to play with the computer. “Invade Long Island? Who was the genius that thought that one up?”
“Fuck, if I know.”
It only took thirty minutes for things to inch downhill. The current rumor was that Intel gave us shit and some satellite data was saying close to twenty-five thousand. I heard the pre-plague population of the island was under three thousand, and we were
going here, why? Just isolate and bypass the place. Only twenty-five thousand on the nearest island of any size, which is right next door to the third, maybe fourth, largest population center in the world, right. Even if the estimates are close, that’s a shitload of bad guys on a very small piece of land! There was no way this was going to end nicely.
I learned from another medic that the reason the estimates are so messed up is that zombie body temperature goes almost to ambient when they don’t move or are resting, thirty minutes to three hours depending on the environment and the condition of the zombie.
“Inactive, we’re talking BPM tenish, respiration fiveish, and hypotension that will blow your mind.”
“Devon, where did you get this information?”
“We got away teams, research vessels, some bases doing stuff. We were prepped on this a week ago.”
“News to me.” Why didn’t anyone tell me? “What away teams?”
“A retired special forces guy, you know the ones doing the private contract work? Well, his wife was an MD and worked for the CDC. She died studying zombies so he decided to die studying zombies. He got backing from the military, gathered a bunch of team members and went to the wasteland to study monsters. Dr. Bill didn’t do that bad first time out. Got choppered into some kind of research facility in the middle of Connecticut, they were on their own and forty miles to the coast, only lost six. The powers that be, liked what they saw and they sent Dr. Bill and his Morrigan Explorers to check out Cape Cod, lost no one. Most of the stuff I told you today is from his work.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy. What’s he doing now?”
“We don’t know. He and his men went to do a transverse of the island, from LI Sound to the Atlantic. We haven’t heard from them in four days.”
June 27th
I awoke totally psyched! This was going to be a very interesting day. We were taken to the island on a LCAC, essentially a hovercraft on a colossal amount of steroids, and came ashore in the second wave at a place named Rams Head, which was just a collection of nice expensive beach houses. The first wave had met with expected resistance, maybe a thousand, and quickly started moving inland and to our objective, a sandbar with a road across called Lower Beach, which separated Ram Island from Little Ram Island and the rest of Shelter Island.
Brutal Planet: A Zombie Novel Page 28