Eternal Vigilance (The Divided America Zombie Apocalypse Book 4)

by B. D. Lutz

  “One mile,” Lewis announced.

  “Weapons hot, check your kits,” Lucas commanded. She nodded when she heard the sounds of soldiers readying themselves for battle.

  Talking into her shoulder-mounted radio, Lucas hailed the Bradley’s crew chief, “Zahra, move to the west of the community. Engage enemy combatants, living or dead. Follow the perimeter and take up a position northeast of the herd. Be mindful of Ma’s line of fire. Only use your M240; keep the Bushmaster offline, unless absolutely necessary. Lucas, out.”

  The BFV confirmed by breaking hard to the west following the prescribed course.

  Lucas navigated the last turn of their route to the community, and the sight stole her breath. Countless UCs massed at the community’s gate. Hundreds more lay dead in the streets as their brethren trampled their shattered bodies.

  She spotted a massive black truck twenty yards from their position, straddling both lanes of the two-lane street. It would be a perfect location for their boots to set up a firing line. With the amount of gunfire coming from inside the community, a mere hundred yards away, she needed to protect her men from being killed by friendly fire.

  Pulling next to the Ram pickup, she ordered Lewis and Stevenson to dismount. When Lewis looked a question at her, she said, “I’m moving closer. I want to get Ma-Deuce within her maximum effective range. You and Stevenson thin the edges of the herd from here, out of friendly fire range. These aren’t trained soldiers; I don’t trust their fire-discipline. I don’t need you becoming a target. Hold your fire until Ma comes online.”

  Lewis’ questioning stare lingered. But Lucas’ orders were explicit. He exited the Humvee, followed by Stevenson. The soldiers took up positions to the fore and aft of the truck, ensuring they covered their flanks. Thirty seconds later, .50 caliber rounds were ripping through putrid bodies.

  As Lewis brought his M4 to his shoulder, he caught movement to the left of the Humvee. Prepared to provide covering fire for his sergeant, it stunned him to find Lucas had exited the massive war machine, adding her M4 to the fight while using the open door as a shield. He was growing to respect her more and more; she’d never be Willis, but she was proving a worthy replacement.

  A flash later, Lewis and Stevenson joined the fight.

  Stevenson was positioned at the front of the truck, with his bipod-equipped M4 on its hood. Movement from inside the cab drew his attention and his M4 to the windshield. Expecting to find a ravenous monster and cursing himself for not searching the pickup’s interior, instead, he found frightened eyes staring at him from between the bucket seats.

  “Hands where I can see them. NOW!” Stevenson barked.

  “Don’t shoot. I’m not infected.”

  Stevenson swiveled back to the battlefield and ended a UC straying too close to his position. He pivoted back to the truck’s cab and found a teenage boy, hands held high above his head. He was shielding himself behind the front seats, and his expression showed he was in great pain.

  “Exit the truck, keep your hands in the air, and lay on the ground. I have neither the time nor patience for bullshit. Move your ass, son.”

  “Sir, we were coming here to see their medics because of my leg. I can’t move, but I promise you I’m not a threat.”

  The teen’s sweaty, pallid face lent credence to his claim of injury. But Stevenson didn’t trust him. In this new world, he trusted no one.

  M4 trained on the teenager’s forehead as he moved towards the door opposite the boy’s position in the crew cab, Stevenson said, “Don’t move. Not even your eyes.” While he sidestepped his way to the door, he yelled, “Lewis, we have a live one in the truck. Cover me until he’s secured.”

  Lewis turned to face his teammate, his features displaying the same shock Stevenson felt with finding the truck occupied. He moved to a covering position and dropped his red dot onto the young man’s forehead.

  Stevenson pulled the door open, stepped back, and leveled his battle rifle at the boy’s chest. Scanning the inside of the crew cab, he found a single Glock 17 resting on the floorboard, far from the boy’s reach. Stevenson’s eyes continued to track through the interior until they landed on an ankle suffering from a compound fracture as bad as any he’d seen on a battlefield. Tension left his body as the realization that the boy may be telling the truth set in.

  The teen shifted, trying to add distance between him and the Glock, but his foot didn’t follow. Stevenson winced at the sight and met the young man’s eyes. “Why are you here alone? How many traveled with you? Where are they?”

  Trembling with fear, the young man said, “They heard the radio chatter about Otto. They went to help him. They left me here in case they ran into a herd they couldn’t break through.” He swallowed hard and continued, “Please don’t kill me.”

  Sensing the situation was under control, Lewis retook his position and unleashed hell on the dead. The M4’s blast caused the boy to flinch, then scream in pain.

  Stevenson realized the boy was being truthful. If it were a trap, he’d already be dead. He dropped the M4 to low-ready and, dipping his head at the pistol, asked, “Can you use that?”

  The boy nodded, being careful to only move his head.

  Stevenson bent forward, grabbed the Glock, and shoved it into the teenager’s hand. “Good, you are now covering our six. You see anything creeping up on us, shoot it.”

  With a heavy sigh, the boy began scanning the landscape behind them as Stevenson retook his position and brought his M4 online.

  Chapter 19 – Steel Gate

  Andy was running before Will could object. He was on a collision course with dozens of monsters converging on their position.

  “Covering fire!” he screamed while shouldering his AR and carefully picking off UCs blocking Andy’s path. He was soon joined by the rest of FST1. They launched an unrelenting stream of copper-jacketed death into the herd while Andy bobbed, weaved, and plowed his way through them.

  Andy’s agility and raw strength astonished Will. He moved like a man who had trained for battle his entire life. When the monsters blocked his way, his gloved fists pummeled them as his shoulders lowered the boom on their putrid flesh. He had become a human sledgehammer.

  Andy quickly disappeared behind a wall of rotting flesh, allowing the team to shift their fire to the monsters surrounding them.

  “I hope he knows what he’s doing,” yelled Stone.

  Barely audible over the onslaught, Will answered, “Whatever he’s doing, it’d better be quick. I’m low on ammo.”

  Will’s gut clenched when the rest of the team echoed his statement. They were running out of time! Will grabbed his radio and hailed Dillan. They needed backup, NOW!

  When Dillan answered his request for support, Will wished he hadn’t. Their home was under attack.

  A voice soon followed Dillan’s, and it filled him with hope. “FST1, hold the line! Help is on the way.”

  At that exact moment, Will realized something. The UCs weren’t moving; they seemed confused, as if pondering whether to pursue the easy meal or continue their march for the larger amount of food just out of reach. It defied logic. And it scared the shit out of him!

  His thought snapped off as Andy’s voice burst from his radio. “Will, the gates have a big-ass padlock on them. The steel is too thick to cut. It looks like someone tried to torch through the padlock with a BurnzOmatic. They didn’t get far, and it didn’t end well. But it gave me an idea. When I tell you to duck, hit the floor as hard as you can, and cover your ears. Andy, out.”

  Will asked Andy to clarify, but received static as a reply. Andy, don’t get yourself killed.

  Half a minute later, Andy ran into view carrying a two-pound propane cylinder with a torch head still attached. His intent was clear and prompted Will to act. “Everyone down!”

  Three bodies hit the floor in unison as Andy began screaming at the UCs, attempting to draw their attention. The mob turned as one and began shambling in his direction. As they massed around him an
d closed the gap, Andy tossed the cylinder into their ranks.

  He retreated thirty yards and took cover behind a heap of lawnmowers and tumbled metal shelving. On one knee, he leaned around the mess and found the cylinder in his Bravo Company AR’s scope.

  The monsters kicked the cylinder around like a soccer ball but mercifully kept it in the middle of the throng. All Andy had to do was shoot the tiny green target.

  His first trigger stroke shattered the calf of a monster wearing a bright orange vest, sending it to the polished concrete floor and trapping his target under its chin. Seizing the opportunity, Andy adjusted his aim and sent a 5.56 green-tipped round into the thin metal wall of the container. The resulting explosion propelled shards of metal through the monsters’ ranks, forcing Andy to pull into a tight ball behind his makeshift bunker.

  As the dust settled, the sound of full-auto gunfire pierced the air.

  Chapter 20 – I Know

  Jackson glanced at Pat. She sat pitched forward. Her left hand gripped the dashboard, and her right hand white-knuckled the door handle. A wicked grin creased her features, widening every time the mammoth truck claimed another victim. Jackson thought Pat was enjoying herself a bit too much.

  He agreed that pulverizing zombies from the safety of the International’s cab was the best way to fight the undead. And he found great satisfaction in taking the fight to the monsters trying to overrun their home. But it wasn’t something he considered enjoyable.

  Jackson shook the thought away. He needed to know what she was plotting. “Pat, are you going to share your plan? Why didn’t you tell him we’re being attacked?”

  Pat spoke without pulling her attention from the carnage they were creating. “Well, Jackson, I’m still working on it. But McCune being here to help with our wounded is my priority. We’re not equipped to deal with some of the injuries I’ve seen. If we don’t have a surgeon, people will die. Our friends will die.”

  Jackson couldn’t argue. They needed a surgeon. Sabrina and Durrell were only capable of battlefield-level medical treatment. Attending to internal damage was beyond their skill set.

  “I agree, Pat. But you heard the panic in the man’s voice, right? He’s afraid of something and he’s using our community to escape it. What if he brings whatever he’s running from to our front door?”

  Pat was silent for a long minute. When she spoke, she avoided the question and said, “We need to make sure the main gate is clear for his arrival. I’ll split off from you at that point. We need him, but I still don’t trust him. So I’ll be on his heels until he leaves. We’ve cleared enough of the dead from this section. The pike team can handle it from here. Head to the main gate.”

  Jackson didn’t press the issue. He knew she wouldn’t answer him. Instead, he turned the battlewagon, carefully avoiding the punji sticks, and prepared for their last pass through the monsters shambling at the north wall.

  He stared through the windshield and realized Otto’s strategy had worked. Dozens of broken bodies lay before them, no longer a threat to their safety. They had thinned the herd on this side of the community dramatically. Pat was right; it was time to move to the main gate.

  Jackson depressed the clutch pedal when movement drew his attention to the barrier. He watched as Darline dismounted from the wall and joined Kit and the others on the pike line.

  As he watched the dead fall to their attack, a voice pierced the air. He scanned the area and found Natalia standing in front of her resupply vehicle with her arms raised in a “V” staring at him. Her eyes filled with pride. The sight reminded him that failure was not an option.

  He smiled at his beautiful wife, nodded, and slammed the shifter into first gear. The International’s diesel roared, lurching the behemoth forward, and promptly stalled. Red-faced, Jackson quickly fumbled with the keys, trying to minimize the damage to his pride. It was too late. He could feel Pat’s glare.

  “Do any of the Hammer boys have their shit together? If needed, I can teach you the proper way to operate a stick shift. Would that help?”

  Eyes closed in frustration, Jackson cranked the truck back to life. “No, Pat. I’m good, but thanks for the offer.”

  Her smile still wide, she asked, “Tell me something, Jackson. You and Stone turned out pretty normal. What happened to Otto?”

  Jackson’s laugh held both relief at no longer being the focus of Pat’s ridicule and amusement at being asked this question for the umpteenth time over the course of his life.

  “Whatever do you mean, Pat? Are you referring to his bullheadedness or his knack for saying the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time? Or is it possibly his resemblance to a loose cannon careening around a wooden battleship?”

  With a broad smile, Pat said, “I know, I love the crazy bastard too.”

  Chapter 21 – BFV

  The noise forced them to abandon the pack. They had heard it before; it held danger. The others moved deeper into hiding, but the familiar noise would find them and end their hunt.

  As one, they fled. This unfamiliar hunting ground ran thick with the living. They would feed, soon.

  ***

  Sergeant Zahra sat perched in the open turret of her Bradley Fighting Vehicle. They had encountered few UCs as they rocketed down the side streets just outside the community’s perimeter. The monsters that wandered into their path quickly became tread-mash as the twenty-seven-metric-ton war machine crushed them. Ammo saved, she thought with a smirk.

  Her anticipation grew as the BFV neared the turn that would take them north and into the fray. Zahra lowered her helmet-mounted boom-mic and said, “Approaching target. Weapons hot.”

  Thirty seconds later, they were facing north and staring into a herd of about a hundred UCs. The M240C spoke soon after, indiscriminately ripping through the ranks of the dead.

  As they raced forward, Zahra realized the people of this community had prepared themselves to repel a large-scale attack from either the living or the dead. The bodies of dozens of monsters littered the area thirty feet from the barrier. Their broken husks were strewn amongst boulders or impaled by sharpened sticks jutting from the ground.

  Cheers of the living drew her attention to their right flank. She found half a dozen pike-wielding people celebrating their arrival. A smile creased her face, and she gave a thumbs-up to the battle-hardened citizens defending their home.

  “We can’t fail these people,” Zahra said into the boom-mic.

  Corporal Smith, the BFV’s driver, sounded in her helmet. “Sergeant, we have multiple targets, northwest. They appear to be hiding!”

  “Hiding? Clarify.”

  “They’re sheltering behind a cluster of pine trees. One hundred yards, northwest.”

  Zahra glassed the area through her Steiner HX binoculars. A flash later, the UC cluster came into view. You sneaky bastards, she thought as she watched them move deeper into the cover of the large trees.

  “Engage the targets.”

  Zahra watched as the M240C’s heavy rounds pummeled the group. Less than twenty seconds later, the only proof of their existence was a cloud of pinkish-black mist hanging in the air.

  “Nice shooting,” she barked into the boom, then switched the radio’s channel from closed to broadcast and hailed Lucas. “Zahra for Lucas. How copy?”

  “Go for Lucas.”

  “Sergeant, we encountered a cluster of UC using cover. Check your flanks. These bastards just upped their game.”

  The INTEL chilled Lucas. She immediately scanned the area to her Humvee’s left and right flanks. “Team, stay frosty on your flanks. Shit just got real.”

  Zahra directed the tracked beast to the northwest point of the perimeter, intending to clear stragglers as they made their way to the northeast position as ordered by Lucas. Her focus was on the pine trees where the M240C had decimated the group of UCs using them as cover.

  Suddenly the BFV slammed to a stop, jolting Zahra forward into the turret’s edge. Angry and startled, she barked into her boom-mic, “Wh
at the hell is wrong with you, Smith? If you broke my ribs, I’m going to kick your ass, soldier!”

  The sound of rubber skidding on pavement drew her attention to the front of the BFV. Her wide eyes watched an enormous dump truck fighting against momentum as blue smoke billowed from its tires. The truck’s ass-end fishtailed as the driver battled the steering wheel for control.

  Zahra’s order to Smith for a full reverse was cut off when the behemoth screeched to a halt inches from her Bradley.

  ***

  Pat glanced at Jackson, her face white and mouth dry from fear. He was still standing on the brake pedal and fixated on the armored beast sitting inches from the International’s front bumper.

  “I think I shit myself, Jackson.”

  “Sorry, Pat. I didn’t hear you because I think I blacked out. Are we still alive?”

  Pat turned back to the windshield and followed the war machine’s 25mm Bushmaster chain gun track upwards. Its business end leveled at the glass she was currently staring through.

  “Put your hands up, Jackson. Try not to look like a threat.”

  ***

  Four hands and two toothy smiles instantly appeared in the truck’s cab. The action prompted Zahra to reverse her order to fire on the vehicle. She unclipped her shoulder-mounted radio and held it and three fingers in the air, representing the channel she wanted them to tune into.

  The crazed-looking woman moved slowly and brought a radio to her mouth. A quick burst of static preceded a shaky voice. “My name is Pat Schreiber; the young man is Jackson Hammer. We mean you no harm. We are fighting to save our community. You can check with soldiers by the names of Lewis and Stevenson. They’ll vouch for us.”

  Zahra took in the gore-covered truck replete with makeshift armor. Remnants of its victims hung from thick pieces of rebar, and blood dripped to the pavement. Against its stark white frame, the blood splattered down its side appeared to be a macabre paint job meant to resemble flames, the likes of which adorned hot rods of a bygone era.