Eternal Vigilance (The Divided America Zombie Apocalypse Book 4)

by B. D. Lutz

  Silvia Brent familiarized herself with the activation system. This bird was equipped with a manual countermeasures system, not the automatic system she was accustomed to. It also meant it was her responsibility to detect and react to any incoming threats.

  Rite’s voice broke over the inflight coms, “Ortiz, arm the sprayers and activate on my mark.”

  “Roger that, system armed.”

  At one thousand yards from the island, Rite gave the order to open the sprayers. Ortiz pressed the large green button that could save the world. He crossed himself and recited a quick prayer. Ortiz had his doubts about their cargo; more importantly, about its effect on the infected. He had lost his entire family to the virus. The thought of having them recover, to be able to hold them in his arms again filled him with hope. But the government’s cloak-and-dagger approach had dampened his expectations.

  He spoke to no one, “Please, God, let them get it right this time.”

  Chapter 7 – Weapon

  The fleet had embarked on a mission to locate and secure fuel abandoned at any of the marinas and shipyards located around the island city. They moved to a position eight hundred yards northwest of the mouth to Oakland Estuary. A recon team had been assembled and was boarding an air-cushioned landing craft when the alarm sounded.

  Packet ordered Choke to determine the cause of the ear-splitting alarm and report back to him immediately. He would remain with their guest to ensure her well-being.

  Choke burst from the cabin and rushed towards the bridge as the klaxon blared through the crowded decks of the Bu Gang. Sailors and soldiers scattered in every direction, some seeking safety, others hungry for orders, all of them slowing his progress.

  When he entered the bridge, he followed his crew’s gaze. Stunned, Choke watched as the massive airplane descended from the clouds and set a course that would bring them directly overhead. But why would they use the lumbering, unarmed behemoths for their attack? He’d known this battle would come eventually, but military tactics called for nimble warplanes, not cargo carriers.

  Ri joined Choke on the bridge shortly after his arrival. He, too, watched the approach of the sun-blocking monster. He glanced at Choke and said, “This is a foolish strategy for the Americans to employ. If it is indeed an attack.”

  As he finished his statement, a haze formed behind the C130’s starboard wing. Choke watched as it coated the main deck’s inhabitants in a blue liquid. Panic-stricken at the thought of being poisoned, Choke moved to slam the bridge’s door, but he was too late. A fine mist had already entered the tight confines, saturating its occupants.

  Choke braced for his body’s reaction to the chemical. He turned to find Ri wiping the substance from his eyes. His fearful expression told Choke the general shared his dark thoughts.

  Ri ripped the ship-wide broadcast microphone from its cradle and barked a string of commands to the fleet. He ordered them to launch their four remaining helicopters and ready their small cache of IR missiles for launch against the enemy. His time had arrived; his war with the West had begun!

  Ri realized the Bu Gang was moving on a collision course with the island city. He turned to face the ship’s captain and found a frantic man attempting to avoid having his ship destroyed by the enemy aircraft.

  “What are you doing, you idiot?” Ri screamed.

  The look of horror on the captain’s face was the only response Ri received.

  “You’re going to run us aground…” His words were cut short by the sound of grinding metal. The ship shuttered and groaned in protest as its powerful engines propelled it onto dry land. The Bu-Gang pitched hard to starboard. Ri grabbed hold of Choke’s suit coat, trying to stop himself from crashing to the bridge’s metal floor. He succeeded only in pulling both men to the unforgiving deck.

  Bodies twisted into human knots as they slammed against the walls of the bridge while the vessel fought a losing battle against an unyielding opponent.

  When the chaos ceased, Choke struggled to his feet. A large gash at his hairline poured blood into his eyes, blurring his vision. Using his hands as his guide, he felt his way to the helm and pulled the EOT (electronic order telegraph) to full-stop.

  Choke wiped the sight-stealing liquid from his eyes and blinked rapidly, forcing them to focus. Ri’s twisted body was crumpled against the bridge's starboard wall, his neck bent at an impossible angle, leaving no doubt that the man was dead.

  Choke’s trance broke as the sound of battle reached the bridge. He spun to face the deck. Through the observation window, streaked with blue liquid, he witnessed two men rampaging across the deck, killing anyone in their path. Their movements were those of sleek, deadly predators. The realization pummeled his mind. The weapon he’d created had been set loose upon the Bu Gang.

  Choke fled the bridge, his body moving on instinct. He pushed past soldiers rushing toward the enemy currently savaging their comrades. Descending the short ladder leading to the captain’s quarters, he screamed when a hand gripped his shoulder, spinning him violently towards the unseen attacker.

  Choke covered his face, protecting it from the assault to follow, but was shaken violently instead. Packet’s voice soon followed. “What happened. Were we fired upon? Has RAM’s military launched an attack?”

  Lowering his hands, Choke responded, “We have run aground. Ri is gone, killed. RAM has infected the Bu Gang with the weapon. Get back to the cabin… NOW!”

  Packet stood in stunned silence, the information overwhelming him. His mouth opened, ready to berate Choke when a scream from behind locked it shut. He whirled around as the broken body of a DPRK soldier slid to a stop at his feet.

  “RUN!” Choke bellowed, pushing Packet towards the safety of the cabin while using him as a human shield against the manmade weapon lurking just out of sight.

  Wharton sprang to her feet, retreating to the back of the room, her fear of the men palpable in its tight confines. She held a satellite phone in her hand, a partially dialed number glowing on its display.

  Packet and Choke frantically barricaded the cabin door while screaming at one another in their native tongue. Wharton’s inability to understand them, coupled with their desperate actions, pushed her over the proverbial edge.

  “Speak English, both of you, speak English!” She paused, her wild-eyed glare bouncing between her captors. When they didn’t respond, she screamed, “I said, SPEAK ENGLISH!”

  Her shrill tone caused Packet to spin in her direction, fear dominating his features. He charged the woman cowering in the room’s shadows, stopping inches from Wharton’s face. His broken English filled the room. “We have been overrun. Make the call.”

  Her confused look enraged him. “The phone in your hand; you were calling for help. Were you not?” Packet grabbed her hand and forced it to her face, slamming the phone against her nose. “Make the call, or I’ll feed you to the monsters roaming the halls.”

  Stunned by the blow and overwhelmed by thoughts of dying at the hands of the monsters outside, Wharton began to cry.

  Her reaction sent Packet into a frenzy. He grabbed the sobbing woman and shoved her into the barricade. “Make the CALL!”

  His action removed all doubt; he would feed her to the monsters if she disobeyed. Wharton brought her trembling fingers to the phone’s keypad and finished dialing.

  Chapter 8 – Chubby Two

  Chubby Two settled into a holding pattern as Chubby One made its second pass on Alameda. Positioning Chubby Two to the west of the DPRK fleet afforded Captain Fontana an unobstructed view and would allow ample time to react to any threats launched by the brown-water navy below. Air Command had pressed forward with the mission after Chubby One encountered no hostilities during its initial run over Alameda.

  With the potential threat located off his port-side, he made a snap decision. “Angie, take the controls. I’m going to scan for threats.” He quickly located the countermeasures controls and readied himself to deploy them the instant he detected a threat.

  A
ngie Clark moved on instinct and quickly assumed control of the C130. “I have control, Captain. Continuing our current heading.”

  Fontana didn’t acknowledge his first officer’s confirmation, his eyes locked on the activity below. It appeared the DPRK fleet was on high alert. But something seemed wrong. They were scurrying about the ship’s deck, more panicked than he’d expect in the absence of an actual attack.

  It stunned him when the freighter suddenly thrust forward and ran aground. The violent action severed the enormous towlines connected to the remainder of the meager fleet. Fontana moved his hand to the countermeasures control when two helicopters lifted from the Nampo-class frigate. He watched in amazement as the Mil Mi-24s hovered several hundred feet above the deck, then whirled out of control.

  The first to take flight suddenly plummeted towards the undersized frigate and crashed through its deck. Moments later, an enormous explosion ripped through the ship, engulfing it in flames.

  The second Mil Mi-24 struggled to right itself, then veered hard to starboard, on a collision course with the large freighter. It pitched nearly vertical alongside the ship, abruptly pivoted, then rammed the ship’s forward hull. The heavily armored copter ripped through the thick steel, leaving it jutting from the ragged wound.

  Something was wrong. As fanatical as they were, the DPRK troops were a disciplined force that would not descend into chaos at the sight of two unarmed heavy transport planes.

  “Clark, on our return pass, bring us in closer to the fleet.”

  Incredulous, Clark responded, “Captain? Are you sure about that?”

  Fontana bristled but understood why Clark would question his order. He glanced at his copilot and said, “Bring us in close. Something’s happening on those ships…”

  An enormous explosion erupted from the freighter, silencing Fontana. The C130 shuddered as the shockwave overtook Chubby Two. Fontana turned back to the window in time to witness a towering fireball mushroom from a jagged breach in the ship’s deck.

  Broken bodies littered the burning deathtrap. Fontana watched in horror as the remainder of the freighter’s crew jumped from the ship’s aft. They plunged into the frigid waters of the bay, quickly disappearing into its murky depths.

  “Holy shit!” Fontana exclaimed.

  An unfamiliar voice quickly filled the speakers in his headset. “Chubby Two, this is Air Command. Abort. Drone surveillance has determined that the target is no longer safe for low-level operations.”

  “No kidding. Air Command, what’s happening down there?”

  It surprised Fontana when Rite’s voice broke over the radio, “Fontana, the world just ended.”

  Chapter 9 – Be Well

  The relentless pounding on the cabin door made it impossible for Wharton to hear. Edging closer to a complete mental collapse, she screamed, “President Train, I can’t hear you. Speak up.”

  A static-garbled reply eked from the phone’s small speaker, “Madam President. You seem to be experiencing some distress, a lot of distress, actually, a great deal of distress. What do you expect me to do about it?”

  The door buckled, forcing Packet and Choke to cower against the cabin’s far wall, strategically positioning Wharton as a human shield.

  “Train, listen to me. Stop playing your juvenile games. As a Head of State, I’m demanding you send an extraction team for me.”

  Sounds of screaming metal and a violent shudder that nearly threw her to the floor interrupted Wharton’s plea. “Oh God, Train. I need your help. Please send a rescue team. PLEEEASE!”

  She screamed when Packet’s icy fingers laced into her hair, yanking her head to his mouth. “Get us out of here or you’ll be the first to die.” He shoved her forward as her sanity broke.

  She tried to speak, to scream at Train, but only managed to sob uncontrollably into the phone.

  Hope soared through her when Train spoke. “Wharton, control yourself. I’ll call Mallet to arrange your extraction. Hold for instructions.”

  “Oh God, thank you, Train.”

  She glanced at the door, her blurred vision registering the large crack forming in the frame. Wharton stepped back, then again and again until she felt Choke’s hands grip her waist. He shoved her forward, slamming her into the haphazardly constructed barricade.

  “Train, where are you?” she screamed into the silent phone.

  “I’m on the line, Madam President. It seems our troops are busy at the moment. Mallet said something about fighting a ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE. He suggested you work with your military. Or, and stay with me here, work with your allies from North Korea. I hear they have a fearsome military.”

  “No, no, please listen to me. I need your help. YOU SON OF A BITCH! I need help.”

  “Madam President, seems to me you got exactly what you asked for, exactly the thing you wanted. Be well, Wharton.”

  Wharton’s sobs filled the room as the door lost its fight against the monsters in the hall.

  Chapter 10 – Randy

  “Otto Hammer, answer me!” Randy screamed into his radio, receiving only static as a response. His frustration and anger merged into fear. His best friend, his brother, was missing. Randy yanked on Ma Deuce’s charging handle, preparing her to re-enter the fight, only to realize she had run out of ammo.

  The revelation pushed his rage to the forefront, allowing it to seize control of his actions. Grabbing his AR, he crawled atop his truck’s cab and took up a position next to the silent M2 and opened fire. He screamed through each stroke of the trigger, fighting the urge to plummet headlong into the herd and tear them apart barehanded.

  Tears stung Randy’s eyes as he thought of his friend. Had he suffered a terrible death at the hands of the monsters attacking his home? His sight went fuzzy as his mind wandered.

  November 3rd, 2018

  Knots Diner

  Two eggs over easy, four strips of bacon, and rye toast with butter and grape jelly. It’s the same every Saturday. Why does he order the same damn meal every Saturday?

  Randy decided to ask Otto just that question. He leaned close to Stone and whispered the question into his ear.

  Unfazed, Stone glanced up from his food and asked, “Otto, Randy wants to know why you order the same food every weekend? He thinks it’s a sign of someone who fears change.”

  Randy gave a stiff nod of approval that Stone had relayed his question accurately.

  Otto stopped short of taking his first bite of the delicious combination of breakfast food on his fork. The precise combination had been honed over years of experimentation. He glared at Randy, torn between his food and yelling at his friend. He chose the former and ignored him.

  Incensed, Randy again leaned into Stone and whispered another question. Stone, seeming to enjoy the situation, finished chewing and said, “Otto, Randy also wants to know why you eat your food the same way every single time? He thinks you’re a weirdo.”

  Otto let his fork fall to his plate and sat back in frustration. He locked his friend in a hard stare and said, “Randy, for God’s sakes, man. This is the first time in years I’ve managed to outshoot you. Hell, maybe ever.” A nasty grin broke on Otto’s face before he continued, “I’ll try harder to let you shoot better than me. I’d hate to trigger you again.”

  Randy’s eyes bulged, threatening to burst from their sockets. Stone exploded into laughter, and Otto displayed his smug I got you smirk on his face. Randy’s mouth worked like a cow’s chewing cud, searching for the words that would deliver a devastating response to his friend’s insult.

  The dials clicked; he readied to hurl his response when the picture window, facing the street, exploded.

  The trio shot to their feet, searching for the cause. Expecting to find a driver that had confused the gas and the brake pedals and plowed into the small diner, what greeted them wasn’t an accident. A man with a black pirate-style patch over one eye sat atop Randy’s truck, a small pile of bricks next to him.

  The damage to the paint job on Randy’s truck sent h
im into a frenzy. He bolted for the exit, passing stunned diners along the way. He reached the door as the man began yelling, “This establishment was reported by one of our protection club members. Our member asked us to remind all of you, and the owners of this fine little restaurant, that the American Flag remains a symbol of hate and oppression. This restaurant refuses to acknowledge that simple truth and continues to display it. Your patronage of Knots Diner means you support the oppression of people far and wide. If they cannot enjoy their lives, you cannot enjoy your meal.”

  The one-eyed man slid from the hood of Randy’s oversized vehicle, brick in hand. He hit the ground, reared back, then launched it at the shocked faces staring at him through the diner’s shattered window. Randy was only feet from the man when the brick went airborne, and he jumped to intercept the potentially deadly flying object.

  His gigantic frame stretched to its length as he slapped the brick to the ground. Momentum took control; Randy twisted off balance and slammed to the sidewalk with a whoosh as the impact forced the air from his lungs, sending the PC enforcer into uncontrollable laughter.

  His mind cloudy from the fall, Randy got to his knees, struggling to catch his breath. He glanced at the one-eyed man, now bent over from laughter, and said, “Get your pirate-looking ass away from my truck.”

  His statement cut One-Eye’s laughter off as he went rigid with anger, then turned to grab another brick. He held it over his head, aiming at Randy’s skull. Suddenly, a flash of movement entered Randy’s vision a split second before a black-and-red-flannel-covered blur collided with the PC member, sending him to the ground. The hollow thunk of the enforcer’s head connecting with the asphalt made Randy flinch. That’s going to leave a mark, he thought.

  A tangle of arms and legs scuffled on the ground in front of his truck. Still hazy, Randy wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. His confusion cleared when he heard Otto slinging insults at the one-eyed man. His friend abruptly wrestled into position atop the pirate, pinning his arms to the pavement under his knees.