Rotters: Bravo Company

by Cart, Carl R

  Gunner screamed and opened up with the SAW. The gun roared and the nurse disintegrated into flopping chunks of bloody black meat. Her severed upper torso and head slapped down into the mud.

  “Fuck me,” Hard-on stuttered, backing away. I could hear him retching inside his suit.

  What was left of the nurse was attempting to crawl towards us. The bloody arm extended and the hand grasped, clawing for purchase in the mud. The thing’s bloodshot eyes bulged, and its teeth snapped.

  We all stared at the struggling monstrosity in utter disbelief.

  No one gave the command to fire; we all emptied our guns until only a severed hand remained. It flopped in the mud like a fish.

  “What the hell is going on, man?” Gunner demanded shakily, “What was that thing?” He made the sign of the cross and hastily reloaded the SAW.

  Hard-on stepped forward. He cursed and stomped on the hand until it was buried under the mud, out of our sight.

  I helped Jonesy to his feet. He was still bleeding heavily. I remembered the virus.

  “Come on!” I shouted, pulling Jonesy along. “We have to get Jonesy back to the medics.”

  We pulled back towards the village, cutting through the woods towards our camp.

  “The shit is gonna hit the fan when they find out we wasted that nurse,” Hard-on cursed.

  We reached the village. The other squad had stopped there to wait for us. Their squad leader, Specialist Sadler, came over to meet us.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he demanded. “What were you shooting at?”

  “We don’t fucking know!” Hard-on growled.

  I helped Jonesy over to them.

  “What happened?” Sadler inquired. “Did he get shot?”

  “No, he got bit,” I responded.

  “Bit?” Sadler repeated.

  “That’s what the man said,” Hard-on confirmed. “This fucking bitch came out of the woods a ways out there. When we tried to help her she bit him.”

  “A local?” Sadler asked.

  “No, she was one of ours,” I replied.

  “Where is she?” Sadler inquired.

  “We wasted her; we wasted her hard.” Gunner answered. “There was something wrong with her. She was possessed by the devil.”

  “You assholes shot a survivor?” Sadler asked incredulously.

  “Yeah, well you weren’t there. I told you, she attacked Jonesy. She was trying to kill him!” I replied.

  Sadler shook his head in disbelief, “Let’s get him back to camp. The LT can sort this shit out.”

  We helped Jonesy back to our camp. Two of the medical corpsmen came and took him into one of the tents. As we limped in, Sgt. McAllister came out to meet us.

  “Report!” he barked. “Who was shooting out there?”

  I quickly told him what had happened. He didn’t seem happy at all.

  “Sadler, Parsons, go inside and debrief the old man,” he ordered. “I’ll try to do what I can for you. The rest of you give 2nd Platoon a hand.”

  Sadler looked at me. I shrugged and walked to the command tent. Sgt. McAllister went with us.

  We ducked inside. The first area inside was just a normal tent. Two tables and a map board were set up, along with a communications array. A sealed flap against the far wall led further inside. Beyond it was a decontamination area, and then the clean tent. I had experienced all of this before from dozens of drills and exercises.

  The CO and the lieutenants were seated at the first table; they looked up as we entered.

  I assumed they knew that shots had been fired.

  Sadler didn’t move so I stepped forward.

  “Did you find any of our personnel?” the major asked.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered. I related our encounter with the nurse and how she had attacked Jonesy. Sadler confirmed that Jonesy had been wounded.

  “Am I to understand that you opened fire on an unarmed nurse, one of the personnel we were sent here to rescue?” the major barked. “And that she is now dead?”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. I had learned long ago that it was better to keep your answers short and sweet. The more you talked the deeper you got yourself into the shit with the old man. You couldn’t get a word in anyway until he had ripped your ass for a while and he ran out of steam.

  “She must have been infected with the virus, sir,” Lt. Reid spoke up in my defense.

  “No doubt,” the major replied dryly. “Parsons, I should have you taken outside and shot! He rose in a fury and shouted at me. I could actually see the spittle hitting the inside of his mask. “It is within my powers as a field commander to do so!”

  “Sir, I must protest!” the sergeant yelled, coming to attention.

  “Be still, Sgt. McAllister!” the major roared. “This man has shot a non-combatant. More importantly to me, he has shot one of the personnel I was ordered to rescue!”

  The major came even closer to me. I could see the veins in his bloodshot eyes.

  “Do you think I like being in Africa, Parsons?” he barked, lowering his voice just a little. “Do you think I enjoy leading this pathetic excuse for a command around on peace-keeping missions and food-distribution outings for the poor, starving, abandoned children of ignorant, backwards people who are too dumb to figure out how to use a condom?”

  His voice rose with each word until he was at full boil. “We had a simple mission to do here. All we had to do was roll in and rescue a single, stupid medical unit from the stinking local Rebels. Come here, rescue our personnel, and leave!”

  He stopped screaming for a moment and sank back into his chair. I didn’t dare utter a word. I just stood at attention and didn’t move.

  No one spoke for a moment.

  Finally, the old man started back up again, “This was my ticket out of here. I could have gone back to the States, or Europe, anywhere but Africa. This place is a fucking shit hole. Everything here is covered in flies and shit. I fucking hate it here. Do you understand what you’ve done to me, Parsons? You’ve fucked me! You had better work real hard to die here because as soon as we get back to the real world I’m gonna bring you up on charges and throw your ass in the brig. You’re going to Leavenworth, you worthless fucker! I’m going to make it my life’s work to make sure you rot there!”

  The major finally ran out of steam. I was a little concerned, he seemed fairly mad.

  No one spoke for a long moment. We weren’t sure if he was quite finished or not.

  Finally, Sgt. McAllister spoke up, “Are we dismissed, sir?”

  “Not quite,” the major replied. “I want Parson’s squad to retrieve the nurse’s body. At the least we can make sure her remains are returned to her family. In the future, endeavor to not shoot any more of our people, Specialist Parsons,” he ordered. “I want them brought back alive.”

  “She wasn’t alive, sir,” I risked replying.

  “Nonsense,” the major retorted. “I’m not buying into your story. It is obvious to me that you panicked. Everyone here before our arrival seems to have contracted the virus. They are sick, possibly deranged, but they are very much alive. Let’s keep the rest of them that way, shall we? Dismissed! Get the fuck out of my sight!”

  We came to attention and ducked back outside.

  Sgt. McAllister took me by the arm, and steered me off to one side. “You need to stay clear of the old man, I mean like for the rest of this trip,” he warned me. “I know you prefer to make light of your ass-chewings, but he’s not fucking around this time. He wants to put you away.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I concurred.

  “Damn straight I’m right,” he said. “Lay low, and don’t fuck up again. I can only cover so much of your ass, boy.”

  I went by the medical unit’s supply tent and grabbed a body bag. No one asked me why I needed it.

  I found the rest of my squad and filled them in on what had been said.

  Hard-on laughed, “Man, I am so glad the old man singled you out.”

  �
��Lucky you,” I retorted. “I took the heat. You’re welcome, mother fuckers!”

  “Hey, you shot first. We just jumped in to help you out,” Hard-on countered.

  “You were right to shoot,” Gunner spoke up. “That woman, she was possessed.”

  “That’s bullshit!” Hard-on opined. “That bitch was sick with the virus, she was out of her gourd, bat-shit crazy, that’s all.”

  “You’re both wrong,” I stated. “You fuckers saw her. Her heart was blown out of her chest and she got up and came at us again. Explain that shit to me.”

  “Your body can run on adrenaline for a minute or so after your heart stops beating, that’s a proven fact,” Hard-on answered.

  “Not when you take three rounds, point blank. You don’t get back up from that. The shock alone will kill you stone dead. And what about when just her fucking head and an arm tried to attack us, huh? What about that?” I concluded.

  Gunner shuddered and crossed himself three times, “Demonic possession.”

  “Bullshit,” Hard-on grunted. “What do you think it is, smart ass?” he asked me.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” I answered him. “There is only one possibility that explains everything we’ve seen here. That fucking virus is reanimating the people it kills. It’s turning them into zombies.”

  We all agreed to disagree.

  We carefully made our way back through the forest to the spot where we had encountered the nurse. It was even hotter now; we were all melting like giant sticks of stinky butter inside our chem suits.

  The flies helped us locate her again. I held open the bag while the other two pushed what was left of her into it with sticks. It wasn’t pretty. I had to try hard not to puke into my mask.

  “Should we dig up her hand?” Gunner asked.

  “Fuck that man, we got enough of her, let’s go!” Hard-on barked.

  I was too disgusted to argue. I got to carry the bag by a two to one vote. It wasn’t really that heavy.

  We staggered back to the tents and turned over her remains to a nauseated corpsman.

  Since we were already there, we checked on Jonesy. They couldn’t tell us anything other than that he was sick, presumably with the virus. I was just glad to hear that he was still alive.

  We tried to find some place out of the sun to sit down for a while. We had just appropriated a spot under a supply area tarp and broke out the cards when the LT came and found us.

  “Nice work back there, Parsons,” he complained. “You got my ass in a sling too.”

  “Sorry, LT,” I offered.

  “Whatever, the CO is pissed. He wants you and your squad out in the boonies until all the medical personnel are accounted for,” the LT replied.

  “Come on, LT,” Hard-on moaned. “We just came in. We’re dying out there in this chem gear!”

  “Hey, you guys brought this on yourselves.” Reid countered. “Take off. And don’t come back without the missing personnel. And don’t shoot anymore of them, Parsons!”

  We painfully walked back into the forest. The other two were angry, and wouldn’t talk to me. I didn’t give a shit, they were hardly sparkling conversationalists.

  I was on point; Hard-on took the right, Gunner the left. We circled the village, and, finding nothing, started to circle it back. It was so fucking hot that we could barely walk.

  We had just stopped at an intersection where two faint trails came together, leading back towards the village behind us. Both of them ran away into the forest, you couldn’t see more than fifty yards down either one.

  I was trying to get some water out of my canteen and through the stupid straw past my gas mask when Gunner grabbed my arm.

  “Look,” he hissed. He pointed down the trail to our right. A man was slowly limping up the trail towards our position.

  “Dude, he is all fucked up!” Hard-on whispered.

  Fucked up was a strong understatement. The man was a walking piece of pepperoni pizza. His skin was gone, literally peeled or chewed away. You could clearly see his musculature and the bone of his skull. He had been skinned alive.

  “The Saints save us,” Gunner whispered fiercely. “His face, and his eyes. They’re gone!”

  “Ah, shit,” I responded.

  “What?” Hard-on urged.

  “He’s wearing scrubs.”

  I didn’t think the man could hear us; he didn’t have any ears. Still, just to be safe we slowly backed away from him, and held a hurried, whispered conference off the trail.

  “We have to take him back,” I urged.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, man?” Hard-on asked. “That guy has definitely got the virus. There is no way he should still be walkin’ around. I am not touching that fucker! No way.”

  “So you agree with me now, that he is definitely dead, right?” I asked.

  “No, asshole, I don’t. I think that poor bastard is so sick that he doesn’t realize he’s been skinned alive,” Hard-on retorted.

  “Come on,” I groaned. “I guarantee you that prick does not have a pulse!”

  “Dead men can’t walk!” Hard-on hissed.

  The man was slowly moving closer to us, but I didn’t think he had spotted us yet.

  Gunner was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. It was all he could do not to run away.

  “Gunner, take it easy man,” I urged.

  “That is not a man,” he insisted. “That is a demon.”

  It was hard to tell, but the man was still wearing the remains of a tattered pair of green scrubs. The shirt was almost completely gone, but the pants were mostly intact, just heavily bloodstained. I pointed them out to my companions.

  “Demons don’t wear pants,” I stated. “And that guy is one of the pricks we are looking for. If we ever want to get back on the old man’s good side we have to take him back!”

  “Shit!” Hard-on hissed.

  I wasn’t happy about it either, especially with these two assholes helping me. Hard-on didn’t want to go near the thing, and Gunner was completely terrified of it.

  I looked at my rifle and cursed. We couldn’t just shoot it. I desperately tried to come up with a plan, but I was drawing a blank.

  Finally, I just decided to tackle it from behind.

  Hard-on and I pulled back off the trail as quietly as we could, on opposite sides. Once we were in position Gunner stood up and waved his arms. He yelled curses in Spanish and English at the thing on the path. I guess the thing heard him, because it jerked its grotesque head up, and staggered towards him. Gunner didn’t wait as long as I would have liked. He turned and ran back towards the village.

  The thing stumped along the path as quickly as it could, dragging one crippled foot behind it. It moved past us without slowing down. Seeing it up close did not help to steel my resolve to capture it. Hundreds of hungry flies swarmed around it in a droning cloud. I could actually hear them through my hood. Seeing the thing turned my stomach; I had to keep telling myself it was once a man. It moaned pitifully through its mangled mouth.

  It hobbled past me, and I forced myself to crawl forward onto the trail. I gave it a few seconds to move away. It didn’t look back. I hoped Hard-on was up for this shit.

  I silently rose and sprinted down the trail. I threw myself forward in a flying tackle, hitting the thing high in the shoulders, and pinning its arms to the sides. We went down hard in the mud, sliding forward on the trail. I wrapped up the creature with my legs and held on for dear life. A horrible rotten stench came through my gas mask, strongly enough to make my eyes water. I gasped for air and retched. The thing trashed violently underneath me, twisting its gory head from side to side, attempting to bite me. Its moans turned to growls. We wrestled in the mud. I was not a happy camper.

  “Hard-on, you worthless fucker, get up here now!” I screamed in my highest falsetto, each word rising higher to a terrified shriek. It was all I could do to hang on.

  Hard-on bent down until he could see my face. He was a good
ten feet away.

  “What do I do now?” he asked.

  “Get over here, you fuck!” I screamed. “Get something in this fucker’s mouth before he bites me!”

  My grasp wasn’t holding. The damn thing was slippery and determined to get me. I was holding onto a man made out of slimy, rotted meat.

  “What do I do?” Hard-on demanded.

  “Use your rifle’s sling!” I shouted back. “Hurry!”

  Hard-on unclipped his M-4’s sling and crept timidly forward.

  “Do it!” I howled.

  Hard-on carefully draped the sling over the man’s jerking, snapping head, and pulled it into its mouth. The thing immediately clamped onto the sling’s padding. Hard-on drew the webbing tight through the adjustment clip. He leapt back.

  I was still struggling to hold on.

  “What now?” Hard-on asked.

  Gunner had finally crept back to us; he stood looking fearfully down at the trashing monstrosity.

  “Get Gunner’s strap!” I suggested.

  It wasn’t bad enough that I had to wrestle with a struggling, virus laden dead guy; I also had to shout directions to these two brain-dead dickheads.

  Hard-on grabbed Gunner’s sling. He wrapped it repeatedly around the thing’s feet and tied it off. I shifted my hold and sat upright. Now I was just holding the thing’s arms down.

  “You’ll have to help me with this part,” I grunted. “Gunner get the sling off my rifle.”

  Gunner moved back up the trail and retrieved my M-4. He unclipped the sling and threw it to Hard-on.

  “I’m going to pull his hands together, wrap em up real tight,” I panted.

  I slowly forced the man’s hands together behind his back and lifted them as high as I could. Hard-on finally grew a set of balls. He wrapped the thing’s wrists together and pulled the strap so tight that it sank into the meat. He tied the strap off and stepped back to admire his work.

  With a groan I released the struggling, moaning, hogtied creature and rolled to the side. I painfully got upright and stood bent over, gasping for breath in the trail.