Everyone was quiet. We were all thinking the same thing. Roland, the medic, and another guy, started down the line in my direction again, telling each soldier to get their weapon ready. When they came to me, I realized the third guy was a Chaplin.
“How are you doing, John?”
“I’m okay, Roland, going to need more ammo. Where is BC?” Just then, two jets streaked low overhead and a second later, the ground shook with an absolutely massive explosion somewhere south of us.
“Doing his job, I imagine. I’m sure he is here somewhere. Hang in there. You will get your ammo.”
“Roland, when you get a second, we have to talk, it might be important.” He looked me right in the eyes and I shook my head. He then turned to the two others.
“You guys continue on. I’ll catch up in a second.” We then walked over to the tree line to get out of voice range.
“You’re not going to want to hear this right now, but the initial contact was what we all expected. Ah, you know, coming at us singly or in small groups. But these waves that hit us later, don’t make any sense unless they waited to attack en masse. You saw what happened at the sandbar. Maybe it’s just chance, but I don’t like it! This changes everything.” I was definitely not calm and I was well on the way to getting pretty darn scared. Things had started out well and kicking undead ass was the order of business, but something was not right. It seemed too easy. I was fully aware I knew shit about the military and how they operate. I was dazzled by the fact that we had more armament than God did, but deep down inside, some part of me realized that this was not going to work. Maybe I should just stop all the thinking and enjoy all the shooting and blowing shit up.
“I was under the impression they did not think, or plan, or fucking talk to each other!”
“As far as I know, they don’t, but remember that guy I told you about at the lighthouse? Roland, zombies do some crazy shit from time to time. I still think it’s some kind of flock mentality. They are grouping on purpose, but why?” I stood and stretched my back.
“Roland, cut me some slack. This is an island, where are they coming from?”
He took a long look at me and with a blank face, and said, “Long Island, we’ve been breached. All the bombing cut loose a lot of flotsam and jetsam, add all those bodies, and I am not really surprised no one thought of this.”
“Roland, we need to pull back now!’
“Why?”
“We’re being probed.”
A fresh company passed through us, advanced across the field, and through the next tree line of ancient maples.
We both went back and sat down. Roland didn’t say a word. From the sound of it, our comrades in front of us were catching some serious shit. Everyone with a weapon was going full bore, and I am not talking just bullets. There were all sorts of thuds, bangs, and booms. Just then, a couple of helicopters screamed low overhead.
“Okay, John, explain…”
Suddenly, the tree line seemed to come alive with scattered groups of olive green figures emerging from the dust and smoke. Something was terribly wrong. There was another huge explosion beyond the trees. All around me, the men sprang into action as orders were yelled up and down the line. Here we go again! Just then, a hand grabbed me from behind and yelled something into my ear about moving back. When I turned around, it was another medic, who looked surprised, confused, and about sixteen. I seem to be attracting medics.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. We have orders to fall back!” His pupils were massive and darting between the field and me. I think I actually acquired the ability to read lips, because I could hear absolutely nothing over all the shooting, but understood everything he said.
“All of us?”
“No, it’s just us, you and me. Let’s go.” I turned around and looked up my right flank. Coming at us in a perfect angular formation was a low grey curtain of doom. It was like some giant wedge methodically absorbing everyone in its path. Everyone; the guy who gave me ammo, the Chaplin, Roland, and BC.
“FUCK ME! That’s a left echelon.” Screamed the now frozen-in-place medic. I turned to run and slammed right into him. Thank God, we didn’t fall, but we sure as shit ran. We passed more troops traveling in the opposite direction, but we still ran. We passed another defensive position and the medic made it clear that I was his charge, so we just kept moving to the rear, now more at a trot than a dead out run. I needed to catch my breath. That was way too damn close.
We entered into the next field, as two Blackhawk helicopters were getting ready to take off. At first, I thought, great, my ride’s here, then stopped, and watched as several stretchers were loaded. Everything about the scene made sense, the evacuation of the wounded, except for the inordinate amount of security and how heavily strapped down the wounded were.
The medic ushered me over to a tent where a dozen computer screens were presenting the action up front and live! One in particular got my attention. It was coming from what I guessed was a helicopter, and in some kind of thermal black and white, showed a two story house besieged by this vast swarm of zombies. The point of view kept rotating and zooming in and out. What I assumed was piles of dead, surrounded the house forming a crude blockade. Every few seconds, some kind of automatic weapon would open up and cut a huge cone shaped swath through them. It looked like a slo-mo version of someone trying to stop the incoming tide using a shovel. They just filled the gap. A series of flashes, and large, almost uniform holes developed in the mass, with hundreds of bodies lying about.
“You Dr. Patrick?” The medic was gone and in his place was an officer about my age, my height, except his hair had never been longer than maybe a quarter of an inch off his scalp since birth, and he had been going to the gym every single goddamn day of his life.
“Yes.” Oops, I should have said sir. Oh well, too late.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m observing.” I really should have said sir.
“Yeah? Under whose orders?” I wasn’t thinking military and he caught me off guard on that one.
“Orders?”
“That’s what I thought. Your ass is out of here. Now.”
And that was it. I was fired from the marines and my battle for Long Island was over. It took me three days to get back to the Truman, and two hours to be called to see the Admiral.
July 1st
I was led to the Admiral’s office by two large MPs. I wonder, are there any small MPs? They didn’t say a word and gave off this air that I was in deep trouble. They knocked and we entered.
“What the hell were you thinking? Who gave you permission to go to the mainland?” I have never seen the Admiral this pissed. I knew from the start that I was asking for trouble, and payback was going to be a bitch.
“No one did, sir. I thought I could give some help, some additional insight into the actions of the undead. I did not say I had permission. I just went along. There is no one to blame but me.”
“No one bothered to ask? No one looked for orders? You just went along?”
“Yes sir. I wanted to see how the zombies would respond to large scale coordinated opposition, if there would there be any unusual reaction, or some kind of group response.”
“Was there?”
“Yes sir! Some of the attacks seemed coordinated, but this could be just a fluke of the environment or random chance. You know a bunch of them showing up at the same place at the same time going in the same direction. Sir, the last attack I saw was in formation. There was no way that was random! We also need to look at their vocalization. It’s almost like a crude but efficient alert system. I will put together a report on my observations. I have notes and the field reports will be a big help, if I can get access to them.”
He looked at me long and hard. He wanted to yell, but I had just thrown him a nice bone. “You will get access and I want that report ASAP. Okay, I want you to sign this.” He slid a piece of paper across his desk.
“M
ay I ask what I am signing?”
“No.” and he meant it.
“Okay, Chris.” So I signed away. Of course, I knew what I was getting into.
“Dr. John Ross Patrick, welcome to the US Navy.” His voice had a certain ring of victory and that kind of pissed me off.
“Great, do I have to wear bellbottoms?”
That surprised him and his face started to turn red. I knew I was pushing all the wrong buttons, and odds are, that I would never fight zombies again, so I had to press on.
“I’m just asking because I don’t look good in bellbottoms, but I do like the small white caps.”
“Get the hell out of my office.” I didn’t need to clarify his order, and quickly left, without saluting.
Once outside and the doors were closed, I was again escorted through the maze. After a couple of minutes, the two MPs stopped, looked at me, and burst out laughing.
“You probably don’t want to do that again,” the bigger of the two said.
“I don’t think he will give me the opportunity. So what’s next?”
“You are off to the Cassandra, a frigate that has been turned into some kind of research vessel. All of your gear has already been sent over. A chopper should be ready within the hour, sir.” This wasn’t a casual, “Hi civilian, I am being polite” sir; this was a formal, “You outrank me” sir.
“What?”
“You gear has been …”
“No, what’s with the sir thing?”
“Our commanding officer informed us that once you signed on, you became an officer.”
“I’m a officer? Can he do that? What’s my rank?”
“Yes, and I don’t know. Let’s get moving. You have a chopper to catch, Sir.”
Chapter 17 ~ Cassandra
July 1st (continued)
I thought I would be jaded because nothing could beat my last ride, but you know a four hundred foot plus, long ship is a big boat. Wow, I thought of it in feet rather than meters. It’s like one hundred and twenty something meters. Anyway, it’s really big. You first see it as a tiny blob, then a small grayish blackish blob, and then a real ship. Then it becomes, we’re landing on that? Eventually, the scene evolves into, oh, it’s a really big ship.
So, this was to be my new home. A crew of about one-fifty, with me still wondering what the hell was I supposed to do here. But hey, there are no more zombies. Let some other son of a bitch deal with that crap.
I stepped off the chopper and waited to be instructed where to go. I was the sole passenger. The rest of the craft was crammed full of supplies. There was also only one pilot, and I am damn sure with all the skirting of land we had to do, the regulations required a co-pilot. So I wandered, stayed out of the way, and looked around. My hair was now in a short ponytail, I had a decently trimmed beard, in blue jeans and khaki, and should have stuck out, but nobody seemed to notice me. Not of a lot of activity on deck, but it was obvious that far more stuff was now stored here than under normal conditions. I was still hanging around when the chopper left, taking four guys in suits with it. Okay, I already exist in a bad horror movie, but what’s with the guys in the suits?
“Dr. Patrick?”
“Hi, I’m Dr. Fitzgerald. Welcome aboard the Cassandra.” We shook hands. Dr. Fitzgerald was about five-five and a petite one-twenty something. We looked to be about the same age.
“Thanks. It’s John by the way. Good to be here, I think?” She gave me a sideways look.
“Kathy. This way.” She led me inside. She was wearing a white lab coat over pink scrubs.
“So, what do we, me, do here?”
“Me do here? Great. You’re on my team. Gross examination, tissue sample procurement, anatomy, and physiology observations. Some up front and intimate quality time with some real live zombies! Ever been near one?”
“It depends on how you define near.”
“Fantastic.” After a couple of corridors, we came to a door.
“Your name will be up soon. The ship’s not all that big and you should have no real trouble orienting yourself. If you get lost, just ask somebody. You will know the restricted areas.”
“Big signs?”
“No, armed guards. Don’t ask me.” She opened the door. “Welcome to your new home. You have a few of hours till we get to work. I’ll come get you in two. Enjoy your adventure exploring the magical Cassandra.”
That’s just what I needed, more adventure. She was right about finding my way around quickly. It seemed like half the ship was off limits, I just glanced at the guards. After some hellos’ and poking about, I went back to my cabin. It was small, but would have been tiny if there were two, as the bunk beds indicated was standard. The bunk was made, so I crashed out and tried to doze. What the hell did she mean get to work?
I was just about to doze off when there was a knock on the door. “It’s open!”
In walks Kathy and she looks pissed. “Thanks, asshole! You could have filled me in on who you are. You know, I had no idea why they were dumping somebody like you on me, I can use the help but…”
“Sorry. Really, Kathy, I had no idea the whole video thing would give me this weird rep.”
“Okay, let’s go. Enjoy you civvies, because the rest of your life will be in scrubs.”
“Pink?” Rest of my life?
“Asshole.”
My new best friend started to calm down and gave me the ten-cent tour, and helped fill in some blanks, important things like, where we eat. We eventually got to a section of makeshift labs that needed card key access. By makeshift, I mean everything didn’t quite fit, a lot of new welding, the ship was obviously not made to do certified laboratory stuff.
“You’ll get yours when you get your ID badge. You will always travel in groups of two in these areas. Let’s go over some of the basics for a Biological Safety Level Four lab.”
“What? This is a BSL- 4 lab?”
“Yes, and a couple of BSL-4 glove boxes.”
“Kathy, are they certified? I mean Real BSL- 4?”
“Quit being such a jerk, John. Have you even been in one?”
“Yes. Fort Detrick, USAMRIID, not big fun, but it does get the heart going. Isn’t this a bit of overkill? I have spent plenty of time around them, and so far, have not been infected. Heck, guys are doing kung fu fighting with them even as we speak, and they are not in bio-suits.”
“If I were you, I would be very happy we have what we have and what we have is our orders. Okay? And while we are on the subject, you need to remember that while your smug ass has been out adventuring and becoming some kind of master zombie killer, we have been sitting here rotting on these ships! All of us have people out there! Our lives! I have a fiancé. I had a fiancé.” She was pissed and upset, but way too tough to shed a tear or break down. “So stop being such a self centered asshole.”
What the hell am I doing here? A fucking BSL- 4 lab and me? Not one iota of this can come to good. Is the universe trying to truly screw me over? Think back to all the mess-ups in your life. Is God trying to screw with me? I am not a marine, I am not a virologist, and I am definitely not someone to play with this virus. Why does everyone think I am an asshole?
What took me a month of SOP study, gowning practice, emergency response rehearsal, and trial runs in a dry lab almost twenty-five years ago, we reviewed in two hours, brave new world. The main lab consisted of what was essentially a very clean and shinny autopsy room; various scales, instruments, a large metal multi draw box like those huge toolsets you see in garages, a chair and small metal desk with a handgun in a holster on top. On the far wall was a large red button, on which someone had written Panic Button in red marker.
“Kathy, is that the panic button?”
She ignored me and we watched a team gown and go through their work. My job was indeed tissue recovery. They basically dissected the zombie and recovered samples from a printed out plastic list. The samples went to another lab, a restricted one. The team was two guys, Gus and Peter, both sailors. I g
ot to talk with them when they came out to de-gown.
“So, you’re machete, dude.”
“I’m machete dude.” The guys were in their early twenties at best and had been surgery techs before being transferred. One was from Arizona and the other Delaware. I’m not sure who was from where.
“You guys went through some sick shit.”
“You’re telling me. How many do you have to do on an average day?”
“Well, that depends,” said Peter or Gus. “We keep a limited amount on board. I’m told no more than four. We get our morning marching orders at the O-seven hundred briefing, usually about two a day. With you here, there are now two teams and Dr. Kathy will have to get to work. Beyond the couple of hours suited up and some paper work, it’s a breeze.”
For me, the breeze started with a meeting. Since I had just arrived and nobody wanted to know how to play with the free-range undead, I had absolutely nothing to contribute. Everyone was in lab coats and different color scrubs. Essentially, it was just a review of the samples retrieved that day with special attention to their accurate location, no data presentation, nothing to analyze. We were organ harvesters, great. I was introduced and of course, the video was mentioned as well as my short stint with troops on Long Island. The group was impressed enough that it was fairly easy to surmise that none of them had spent any time around a free-range zombie. That’s fine with me I believe El Macho Machete has officially retired. After dinner, I went with a new group, another list of names I didn’t remember, to watch a movie; Apocalypse Now.
July 2rd
I was in the cafeteria by five-thirty in my light blue scrubs, and my way too white lab coat, no name. I wanted to go over some of the information Kathy had sent to my cabin. The place was big and could probably sit a hundred. It was a quarter full. People were scattered in small groups, talking. Everyone was in either scrubs of different colors or military uniform. Breakfast wasn’t bad; powdered OJ, instant coffee, instant creamer. I have no idea, but I thinks it’s scrambled eggs and no, that is not bacon, yes, bacon! One of the scientifically proven essential food groups. I loaded my plate. There was one other highlight; fresh baked bread and butter. I half expected some kind of rationing, but it was serve yourself. So I loaded my plate and found a nice quiet spot to eat and read. After fifteen minutes, I saw Kathy coming across the room with her tray.
Brutal Planet: A Zombie Novel Page 30