by J. F. Holmes
“Petruncio, take your squad and go down there and start pulling people out of the water!” I ordered, as I heard the Engineer’s HUMVEE start up and race off. “Sergeant Williams, call an ambulance for the LT!”
“I already tried, the 911 system is down!” came back her panicked answer. Shit, that would have to stop, or we would all break.
“Is Doc Raines working on her already?” She nodded, and I put the problem aside; there was nothing I could do right now. Raising my voice, I called out for all NCOs to come to my position. Then I grabbed the handset and called the TOC. The RTO answered with her own panic.
“What the hell is going on?” I yelled into the mic, taking my frustrations out on the poor kid.
“I…I don’t know, Sergeant! The Route 9 TCP just went off the air, and the Captain and Top went charging out of here! I’m the only one here!” A note of hysteria was creeping into her voice.
I took in a deep breath, then said, “OK, stay calm, and if they come back, give me a call. Try and get an ambulance sent down from the Division HQ in Clifton Park. I’ve got a severely injured soldier.”
“I can try, but the -” and then she cut off in mid-sentence.
The NCOs gathered around as I handed Ramirez the mic, and I climbed up on the hood, echoing Di only a few minutes earlier. Both because I wanted to address them, and I wanted to see what was going on across the remains of the bridge.
“How many of you brought your own ammo?” I asked.
Several hands went up, and I grunted in satisfaction. “Good. We need to redistribute and form a perimeter facing north, about 100 meters up the road, at the first cross street. Staff Sergeant Allen, your squad takes right. Sergeant Urban, yours takes left. Petruncio will have his squad behind you, and respond as needed. Sergeant Williams, concentrate on getting whatever survivors make it to shore into that house over there,” I said, pointing to my right.
“Nick, what the hell is going on?” said Allen, his normal ghetto accent falling away in the stress.
“I have no idea, Bill, but I want to be ready. Make sure your guys are ok, they’ve gotta be shaken up by Ski and Hanebury dying like that.”
“Are they dead? How do we know?” asked Williams.
“We don’t, but we don’t have the manpower to go look for them.” I didn’t tell her that I had seen both of them hit the water, pounded by a section of the bridge. A little hope never hurt.
Then I looked up and across the water. The screams had stopped, but the howling went on. What the hell WAS that? Then I saw it. Dozens of pairs of red pinpoints, barely visible at head height, clustered on the end of the bridge. Even as I watched, they fell into the water, thrashing madly, still howling.
Even as I watched, the howl sounded BEHIND me, and I spun on the hood. A man was charging down the street, howling like his soul was on fire, and he was followed by half a dozen more. Their eyes were blazing red, and some of the people who had come out after the shooting stopped ran to get back inside their houses. One woman, an older black lady, slipped and fell, and the pack descended on her and ripped her apart.
“HOLY FUCK!” shouted someone, and ten rifles went off at once. The rounds ripped into the attackers, and two of them fell. The rest got up and ran towards us, even as chunks of flesh flew off them.
I raised my rifle, sighted, and fired a three-round burst into the closest. The man fell, then got up again. Another was cut in half by the .50, guts and spine exploding outward, and the top half of his body started to pull itself towards us.
“HEAD SHOTS! HEAD SHOTS!” I yelled, and fired again at the closest one, trying to hit him in the head, but my hands were shaking all over. The man, a bald headed, beefy white guy, vaulted onto the truck and crashed into me, and I jammed my rifle barrel into his neck, pulling the trigger over and over. His head came off just as one of the rounds drilled into Doc Raines. He fell to the ground, leaking blood from his leg.
One last shot sounded, and then more screams, this time normal, human ones. One of the MRAPs started up, and tore off down the street. The unit was falling apart, and I had to do something.
Chapter 5
“Rodriguez, try and get on the horn to higher and find out what’s going on. Petruncio, start loading the trucks, we’re going to head up to the Company CP and rally there. Everyone, cross load ammo,” I said, as calm as I could. “Sergeant Williams, get me a roll call, find out who it was that took off in the MRAP.”
“Sarge, what about the civilians?” asked Boyd. He gestured to the houses that lined the road, where I could see cautious figures peering out from behind curtains.
It was decision time for me, for all of us. This looked to be bad, and getting worse. To punctuate, I finally heard a muffled BOOM come rolling down the river, preceded by a flash in the sky. That was the I-87 bridge going, or Route 9.
“There’s nothing we can do for them right now,” I answered, making up my mind.
“But what about our families?” asked Sgt. Opel, an older guy who had just come back into the Guard after a ten-year break. I knew he had something like five kids, and he asked the question that I hadn’t wanted asked.
“Yeah, I want my cell phone back so I can call my wife!” shouted one of the younger guys.
“Sergeant Williams will give you back your phones for five minutes, then collect them again.” I answered him with a final, flat tone. “Our families will have to fend for themselves until this blows over. I’m sure we’ll be able to stop this in its tracks, and most military wives know the score, and should be prepared.”
“Nick…” ventured Naomi.
“No discussion, Sergeant Williams.” I heavily emphasized her rank, and she looked back at me, understanding. We were in deep shit, and things had to stay together.
“Fuck that! I didn’t sign up for this shit!” exclaimed the kid who had spoken earlier. I didn’t know him, he had just gotten back from AIT as an intel analyst.
“Yes, you did,” I answered, drawing my 9mm, and holding it pointed at the ground. “So get your ass moving and get on that truck.
“Or what?” He pulled out a cell phone, one that we had missed, and started texting furiously.
“Or I shoot you dead on the spot for disobeying orders.”
Petruncio saw the look in my eyes, and butt stroked the kid in the back of the head, knocking him down. “Anyone else?” the wiry Italian said, and the two dozen soldiers all looked away. “Then let’s go! You heard the man.”
“What about him?” asked Opel.
“Leave him,” I answered. “Once this is done, he can face charges. But take any ammo he has first.”
“SERGEANT AGOSTINE! I GOT BATTALION ON THE HORN!” yelled Rodriguez. I hustled over and took the mic. It was Major Alerdice, the S-3, or Operations Officer. I gave him a quick SitRep, leaving out the way the ones we shot hadn’t fallen. He didn’t seem to want to hear it anyway. I could hear multiple radios, and gunfire, lots of it. The Battalion HQ was located south of the Thruway bridges, in what was probably the middle of a complete shitstorm.
“Sergeant, your orders are to check out your company command post, which is not answering the radio. Then you are to proceed west to Seneca Army Depot, conserving your fighting power. Is that understood, over?”
“Roger, Company CP and then proceed west to Seneca Army Depot, conserving combat assets. Out.”
I had expected the Company CP part; it was what I had already told the guys. The Seneca Army Depot, not so much, and I put that aside for now.
Five minutes later, we piled into the remaining MRAP and the two HUMVEES, loading LT Brown gently into the back seat of the Jeep. I ordered two of my guys to take her to Saratoga Hospital, then leaned over to talk to her.
“Nick…” she whispered, face wracked with pain, and breath coming in gasps. Blood was trickling out of her mouth, and I don’t know how she was still conscious.
“You’re gonna be OK, Di. They’re taking you to the hospital. Just hang tight.”
“Not …
going to make it,” she gasped again.
“Bullshit,” I answered, with tears in my eyes. She had been the first one to welcome me to the unit after I got off active duty, and we had become good friends since then.
“Bullshit yourself!” she said weakly, almost smiled. Then she coughed up a gout of blood.
I wiped it away, but she was getting paler. I leaned closer to hear her talk.
“It’s going to be bad, Nick. Take this,” she said, using the last of her strength to reach up and pull at the American Flag velcroed to her shoulder. She was too weak to pull it off, so I took it. It was stained with her blood, looking black in the streetlight.
“Swear to me, you’ll keep the faith. Swear it.” Her eyes closed as her last words came whispering out. She didn’t breathe again.
I took the flag and put it in my sleeve pocket, then stood up. “I swear, Di. I’ll keep the faith.”
That flag, the only one remaining after Kansas, after I thought we were done, is still in my pocket. It will be there until I die and we meet again on Fiddler’s Green.
Chapter 6
There is a time for friends to die, and a time for you to mourn them. In a soldier’s life, they are rarely the same. I turned away from my dead friend, and looked at what was now my command. Maybe a dozen and a half scared, tired soldiers. Cooks and clerks, with a scattering of veterans among them. Little ammo, and the world collapsing around them. A few vehicles, and a situation which none of us were prepared for or able to deal with.
“Sarge,” said Petruncio, “the trucks are loaded.” He stood there, weapon at the ready. He was in the zone, and as I closed the Jeep door, I stepped into it too. Took everything outside my immediate surroundings, and put it in a box, then duct taped that box and shoved it into my deep subconscious.
“OK, let’s roll. CP first. It’s only a mile. Tell the guys to be weapons TIGHT. I don’t want any civilians shot, but if they are threatened by any more of those creatures, whatever the hell they are, they MUST take aimed shots. First person that wastes ammo, I’ll have their head.”
He stepped forward, and leaned in to speak quietly. “Nick, you and me, and some of the other guys, we’ve been there, but most of them, even the HQ people with tours overseas, will, they’re still Fobbits.”
“Tim, either they’re going to man up, or be dead. We’ve got no time,” I answered. “It’s up to us to lead.”
“Got it. I’m just saying.”
“Understood. Let’s get to the CP and then we can take it from there.”
The small convoy started slowly down the street, and the civilians in the neighborhood started to panic, coming out of their houses and yelling at us. More came out and started shoving belongings into their cars, cramming them with all kinds of useless stuff. I stood up in the turret of the HUMVEE, watching the whole thing, leading the way. Rodriguez kept trying to reach Battalion on the radio, but they had gone off the air. Behind us, a glow had started on the horizon, a large fire somewhere, and sirens were screaming back and forth.
A car sped backwards out of a driveway, cutting the MRAP off and then crashing into it. I ordered Boyd, who was driving, to pull up to the accident. The MRAP driver had gotten out and was arguing with the driver of the car, some skinny punk with a tattoo on his neck. This part of town was dominated by old Victorian houses divided up into rentals, and didn’t exactly have a thriving middle class.
“Llewellyn, get back in the truck. Sir,” I said, trying to remain civil as I clambered down the hood, “move your car.”
“Fuck you! You’re going to pay for that shit!” The car was a little Honda, lowered, with spinner rims. The guy had a wild look in his eyes, and I don’t think his reality was the same as mine.
“Sir, when the emergency is over, I’m sure the State of NY will pay for your car, but you need to move it, now.”
“Or what?” he answered, raised his hands up, and tried to shove me. Just at that moment, I heard, in the distance, another howl. I hit him in the face with my rifle butt, knocking out some teeth and probably breaking his jaw.
“DRIVE OVER IT!” I yelled, and climbed back onto the HUMVEE to see what was happening behind us. A full-scale riot had started, with a few pairs of red eyes showing in the crowd, actually BITING people. Pistol shots sounded, and screams, and cars and people surged toward us.
“GO GO GO!” I yelled, and slammed my hand down on the roof. The MRAP drove over the back of the car, and over the skinny guy who had just started to get back up, leaving a red smear on the road. We shot forward, following it, and the next HUMVEE and the Jeep tagged along in our wake. Another car coming out of a cross street hit the Jeep, slamming it sideways and pinning it up against a pole. The crowd of people, which at this point was starting to be composed of more and more of those fucked up glowing red eyed monsters, swarmed over it, and I heard the screams of my men as they were dragged out.
The crowd quickly disappeared in the distance, and we moved into an area of quiet for a moment. The CP loomed up ahead, illuminated by lights on poles and guarded by a single HUMVEE. I expected to be challenged, but the turret didn’t swing in our direction. There was nobody IN the turret. Coming to a stop, I ordered Sergeant Petruncio, who was next in rank to me, to set up a small perimeter while I checked things out.
Inside the building, the lights were all on, and no one was home. The radios had been hammered into uselessness, with the hand mics cut by a knife. There was a mug of warm coffee, a commemorative Desert Storm mug that I recognized as the Company First Sergeant’s, sitting on the table.
On a whiteboard, someone had written in dry erase marker, “ALL UNITS TO SENECA. MOHAWK BRIDGES BLOWN AT NORTHWAY, FREEMANS, RT. 9, REXFORD.” Then a question mark with “WATERFORD?” followed by “HOLDING AT ROTTERDAM RT 5/ THRUWAY JUNCTION” followed by a time, 02:17 LOCAL.
Fuck. We had just missed them. My watch showed 02:32. I headed back outside.
“Williams, take three guys and gather everything useful. Boyd, break into Stewart’s,” I said, gesturing across the street, “and grab as much non-perishable food as you can load in the HUMVEE. Take three guys with you.”
“Sarge? What?” he answered, a puzzled look on his face.
“Just do it. Bread, canned food, water, as much as you can stuff in the truck.”
“I can’t ...” he said. Boyd was a cop in civilian life, and the thought of committing a crime just didn’t compute in his head.
I didn’t have time for this. I climbed back up on the hood, and gathered everyone around. “Listen to me!” I said, loudly. “We have been ordered to fall back to Seneca Army Depot, out past Syracuse. I don’t know WHAT is going on, but you saw those things attacking people. I am going to do my best to get you all there safely, and that is IT. But…” I said, lowering my voice. “I know you are all concerned about your families.”
Decision time. Family, or fighting power. I made the decision which I would come to regret, later. “If any of you have family in the immediate area, or along the way west, we WILL try to get to them. If you have family elsewhere, I am releasing you with orders to proceed as best you can to Seneca.”
They all looked at me, and at each other. South of us, the glow on the horizon was getting brighter. I didn’t know it then, but a train of container cars with thousands of gallons of fuel oil had started to burn in the Port of Albany. We could also hear distant gunfire, and even a scream or two from whatever was still going on down the street. Even as I spoke, an eighteen-wheeler truck with the words PEPSI on the side went past us to the south, oblivious, as the driver made his morning delivery rounds.
“Listen,” I began again, “I don’t know what the hell is happening. I want you to stick with me, because no matter what those things are, what’s going to be worse is when the food runs out and the gas is gone. You remember after Hurricane Katrina? Well, this is going to make that look like a picnic. It’s not just New York, you all have heard the civilian news and seen the videos on YouTube in the last few hours.
It’s going on all up and down the eastern seaboard, spreading from DC. If we stick together, and if the center holds, we can beat it. But if we each go our own way, this country will fall, no doubt. But do what you think best.”
Chapter 7
In the end, only six stayed with me. Sergeant Opel and SPC Boyd, Doc Raines, Sergeant Williams, Staff Sergeant Petruncio, and another kid. I never even found out her name, because shit happened so quickly after that. Williams had a son who lived with her in Schenectady, and Boyd’s wife was in Clifton Park, so we made plans to head to them on the way west.
I wished them all Godspeed, gave them their cellphones back, and saluted. Of course I let them go see to the safety of their families; as much as I had forced it down, the thought of being able to get to Jane and our daughter kept pushing me into panic. She would have gone north already, and her parents lived way up in the Adirondacks. The place they had retired to was pretty damn self-sufficient, at least for the couple of weeks I was sure it would take before this blew over. Still, I wanted to make sure that she had gotten on the road.
We took the two HUMVEES, counting on using civilian cars for any family members, leaving the MRAP behind. It was even worse on diesel than the trucks, and we had hundreds of miles to go. As we set out, myself leading one truck and Petruncio leading the next, fire department sirens started going off, the big ones mounted on the roof of the station houses. I’m talking all of them, at once, and lights started going on in houses all around us. Some people were already packing their cars, others stood on their porches, looking sleepily at their phones or into the street.
Being closest, my house was first. We lived on a small street, in a quiet neighborhood. As we drove, I tried to text Jane, but I couldn’t send, or call. As I tried, a text popped up simultaneously on all of our phones.
ALL MILITARY RESERVISTS REPORT TO NEAREST ARMORY OR BASE. CIVILIANS STAY IN YOUR HOMES AND SEAL YOUR DOORS AND WINDOWS. DO NOT OPEN TO ANYONE EXCEPT POLICE OR MILITARY. DO NOT TRAVEL ON ROADS. ATMS ARE DISABLED. STAY HOME. THE CURRENT EMERGENCY WILL BE OVER BY TOMORROW.