by John Holmes
“Doc, check out Brit, see if she’s OK. J, figure out what the hell is wrong with the truck.”
“On it, Boss.” The two big guys squeezed past each other, trying to maneuver in the confines of the truck. Doc shone a flashlight in Brit’s eyes, then broke out some smelling salts. She woke up quickly, and then vomited all over herself.
“She’ll be OK. Slight concussion, we’ll have to keep an eye on her, keep her awake.”
Jonesy had been shining a light under the seat. “Wish I could say the same about the truck. Looks like she done shot the transmission shifter linkage away.”
“Crap. Well, OK, nothing we can do about it right now. They aren’t going to get through the armor. We’re just going to wait them out. Figure three days, max.”
“Can’t we just, you know, open the window a bit and shoot them?”
I thought about it. At this stage in the game, we didn’t know how zombie infection was transmitted. I was worried about body fluids splashing back and contaminating someone through the open window.
“Maybe when it gets light out. Right now, let’s get some sleep. We have about three hours. One man on, hour each. I’ll take first, keep Brit awake.”
The others slowly dropped off. I sat and stared at Brit, then drew out my 9mm and put it on the dashboard. She looked back at me, barely visible in the light thrown off by the radio.
“Nick, I’m sorry.”
“Right now, I’m trying to decide whether to put you outside the truck, or just shoot you. You put the whole team at risk. What the hell were you thinking, sleeping with your weapon off safe?”
She was quiet for a minute. I could tell she was crying, but at that point, I didn’t care. We might all be dead because of her in a few hours.
“This isn’t some comic book, O’Neil, or a fucking video game.” My voice was harsh.
“Don’t you think I don’t know that? Why was my weapon on fire, Nick? Because I spent the last eight months sleeping alone, every night, not knowing if some fucking monster was going to rip my throat out while I slept. I had to be ready to shoot in an instant! I was alone, Nick, so fraking alone, and then you and the guys show up like some kind of goddammned angels out of nowhere.” She was sobbing now, and I could tell the rest of the guys were awake, listening.
“Every single night, alone. I’m sorry, but that’s how I had to live. Maybe you’re stronger than me, but I was scared every single minute. Don’t put me out there with them. Shoot me if you have to, just not that.”
“I’m not going to shoot you. No one died” I said. “I lived just like you did, for a couple of months. But you have to understand, from here on out, we are your team. Your family. We trust each other with our lives, and I go to sleep peacefully because I know that I can depend on them to keep me safe. Can we trust you?”
“Yes” she whispered.
“If it happens again, I’ll kill you myself. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” A little strength had crept back into her voice into her voice.
“Good. Make sure your weapon is on safe, reload, clean yourself up, and get some rest. Drink some water. Stay awake, though.”
Outside, the undead had stopped howling, but they shuffled around the truck in a circle.
Chapter 24
It had clouded over during the night, and dawn wasn’t the rising sun. Instead, the landscape went from black, to grey, to white.
Ahmed shook me awake, and we each quietly shifted around and tried to stretch as best we could in the cramped space. I opened up an MRE, and set up the heater for some breakfast. Doc and Jonesy took turns shaving each other’s heads, and Ahmed twisted around to pray to his destroyed Mecca. Morning rituals.
“Tuna with noodles? Holy crap, what is the date on that MRE? I haven’t seen that in ten years.” Doc was peering at the brown wrapper.
“I dunno, let me see. Um, 1996.”
He laughed. “That’s almost twenty years old. Your funeral.”
“Ain’t nothing Tabasco can’t kill.” I emptied the small bottle into the packet and started chowing down. I licked the brown plastic the spoon clean and shoved it back in my sleeve pocket.
“Nick.” Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. Brit was leaning forward.
“I gotta pee.”
“So? Get a coffee can, or use an MRE bag.”
“Seriously?”
“Well, you’re welcome to step outside and find a tree.”
She shifted uncomfortably and crossed her legs. “I’m serious, I’m going to wet myself.”
I was tempted to let her piss her pants as payback for last night. “Go ahead, piss in an MRE bag.”
“I can’t pee in front of people. I never could.”
I sighed. Someone was going to have to learn some hard lessons. “What if you had to take a dump? I shit myself, twice, in Afghanistan, while a Taliban patrol was ten meters from my hide site.”
“So you’re a big hero. I GOTTA PEE.”
Ahmed spoke up. “We have two problems that need to be solved. The truck, and Miss O’Neil needs some privacy to urinate. I shall run.” With that, he started stripping his body armor off and secured his rifle. He was older than me, but the wiry little Pashtu tribesman was faster than a jackrabbit. I didn’t like it. We COULD wait them out. I was tired, though, and wanted to go home.
I nodded to him. “Meet you about a mile up the road.”
“Wait, what is he going to do?” asked Brit.
“He’s going to run through the zombies and draw them away from the truck.”
“But” she stuttered, “but that’s insane! You’ll get killed, or bitten.”
“I have faith in Allah, that what I am doing is his will. Besides, I will keep one bullet for myself and soon have milk and honey and more virgins than I ever want to deal with again. Who wants to be surrounded by that many women for eternity? A man would go insane!” He laughed and put his hand on the door.
Doc slid his window down and threw a grenade as far as he could. It went off with a flat BANG, muffled by the snow. The Z’s swarmed towards the explosion, temporarily clearing Ahmeds’ side of the truck. He opened the door, slipped out, and ran ten meters, then turned and fired into the crowd. As one mass, they started after him, and he disappeared into the wood line. I hoped the snow wouldn’t slow him down too much.
I rolled out my door and into the snow, and crawled under the truck to the far side, looking for the broken linkage. I saw Brit’s boots hit the snow, and she ran for the nearest tree, unbuckling her belt as she ran.
I saw where the linkage had been shot away. The shifter extended down next to the transmission, and where it entered the housing, the metal was scored by the shotgun pellets. I took the piece of hanger wire that I had grabbed and tried to twist it around the broken linkage.
“Go ahead, try it!” I yelled up to Doc. I saw the shifter move, but the hangar wire didn’t have the stiffness to force the lever on the transmission. Damn, I thought to myself. I took my K-bar knife out of its’ sheath and started hammering on the lever with the hilt. I dull CLUNK and the truck jumped forward, then stopped as Doc hit the brakes. I quickly crawled out from back under, just as the 240 opened up, tracers racing into the woods just of the left of where I could see Brit’s legs as she squatted up against a tree. Note to self, next time, make someone go with her.
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!” she yelled, and struggled to pull up her pants. Jonesy let another burst fly at a shambling figure that had emerged from the woods. One round caught it in the head, dropping it, but a half dozen more came charging out.
Brit ran for the truck holding her helmet on her head with one hand and her pants up with the other. She dove into the truck, and her pants fell down as Doc stomped on the gas, slamming the heavy armored door shut. Jonesy looked down from the turret as Brit struggled to pull her pants up.
“Damn, you skinny, white girl! You need to EAT! Nick, what the hell do you see in that skinny little butt?” Doc started laughin
g as Brit tried to slap Jonesy in the crotch and he rotated the turret away from her. I just shook my head and looked for Ahmed.
We picked him up, just ahead of the crowd of zombies, on the side of the road. He jumped in, and we headed off down the road.
Chapter 25
We swung up and around Saratoga Springs, moving through deserted small towns. Outside Corinth, coming down from the hills on Route 9, we ran into a barrier across the main street in town. On the south side, piles of skeletons glistened in the snow. Refugees, shot down by the townspeople as they tried to storm their way into town.
The bride to the North, across the Hudson River into Hadley, had a barricade made out of an old school bus. Behind it, a plume of smoke came from a makeshift chimney on a Stewarts shop at the intersection.
“Stop the truck” I told Ahmed, who had taken over driving. We had stopped an hour before and rigged up a shifter for the truck. I wanted to talk to these people and intel was intel. Maybe some allies up here would be useful.
“HELLO THE BRIDGE!” I yelled.
No answer.
“UNITED STATES ARMY SCOUTS!”
An arrow flew out of the shattered building windows, and buried itself at my feet. I reached down and plucked it out of the snow.
“WE’RE NOT HERE TO FIGHT, WE JUST WANT TO TALK!”
Someone inside the building yelled “FUCK OFF!” and another arrow bounced off the roof of the truck, barely missing Doc, who was leaning on the 240. He didn’t flinch, but I heard the selector switch rotate from SAFE to FIRE.
“WE’RE WITH THE GOVERNMENT, WE JUST WANT TO TALK!” I heard Jonesy laughing inside the truck. “Shut it, you moron.” He laughed louder.
I turned back to face the bridge, wanting to give it one more try, and I was knocked down by a hammer blow to the chest. It flung me backwards and I crashed into the open door and fell to the snow, gasping for breath. I tried to sit up as Doc opened fire with the gun, hammering short bursts into the structure.
“Cease fire!” I tried to yell it, but it came out as a croak. Someone grabbed me by the dead man’s strap on the back of my body armor, and pulled me into the truck as I struggled to get to my feet. Brit started pulling at the Velcro tabs on my body armor, shoving her hand down the front.
“NO BLOOD!” Doc dropped down from the turret, and Brit took his place as we drove away. Hot brass fell on me as I struggled for breath, and I winced in pain as we bounced over sidewalks to avoid the barriers, truck tires crunching through bones.
We stopped half a mile down the road, and Doc stripped off my uniform top and felt my ribs. He touched one and I almost jumped out of my skin. An ugly bruise was forming on my chest.
“Yeah, broken rib. I’ll tape it, but you’re just going to have to take it real easy for a few days. Lucky for you it hit your SAPI plate clean on. Any higher” he said as he reached into my vest and pulled out the shattered ceramic plate “and your would have had your shoulder ripped off.” He felt around and pulled out a flattened bit of metal and dropped it in my hand. “Full metal jacket, high velocity military round. Maybe an old M-1 Garand or a Springfield ’03. You are one lucky mother, buddy. Try not to breathe too hard. ”
“No shit, Sherlock” I groaned.
Jonesy turned around. “Damn, Nick, don’t you know by now there ain’t no helping some people? First arrow, I would have skedaddled out of there, but nooooo, you had to play John Wayne. Just like that time in California, down in LA. “US ARMY, WE’RE HERE TO HELP!!!” He burst out laughing, as did Doc and Ahmed.
“Stop, you ass, it hurts to laugh!”
“Tell me about it!” said Brit.
“Well, we got some kinda intel that some rich folk …” I held up my hand to stop Jonesy. I had had enough embarrassment for one day.
Chapter 26
The rest of the day passed in a haze of pain and discomfort. Doc gave me some Codeine, and I had some really weird nightmares as a I drifted in and out. We cut down Route 32 southeastward, around Glens Falls and through Gansevoort to Schuylerville, and crossed over the Hudson there. The Saratoga Battlefield Monument kept silent watch over the deserted apple orchards, slate grey in the weak winter light.
Fourteen miles to the south, we made a right turn onto a set of bridges going back across the Hudson at Stillwater. In between the bridges, on a small island, stood a two story house. I had spent last summer, immediately after the Apocalypse, hiding out there and fortifying the house. Whenever things got too hot, I took off across the water in a rowboat to a refuge in the woods, several miles away, that I had built on an old farm foundation. TO the south, the city of Mechanicville still swarmed with Z’s, but I had cleared the immediate area out, sniping from the roof, using up thousands of .22 rounds.
Snow crunched under the wheels as we pulled up slowly and stopped twenty meters from the front of the house. Across the western bridge span, the barricade I had built out of cars still stretched across the road. As we un-assed the truck, a sharp pain shot through my side and I bit down on my lip to stifle a groan.
“Ho, hey there, where do you think you’re going?” Doc put his hand out and stopped me. “Back in the truck, cowboy.”
I compromised and sat down on the seat, feet hanging out of the door. “Be careful.”
“Any booby-traps?”
“No. I knew I was going to be gone for a long time, what if some refugee family needed the place? My weapon stockpile is hidden behind a false wall in the basement. Place was locked up pretty tight though. Look at the front door.”
It was swinging wide open in the wind. The front lock had been shattered by a shotgun blast or an axe.
“Got it. Ahmed, Jonesy, let’s go.”
I expected Brit to say something, but she just spun the turret back down the way we had come, to cover our rear. Maybe she was learning.
One of the hardest parts of command, of combat, was watching your soldiers and friends go into battle and standing aside. In Afghanistan, as a Staff Sergeant, I had taken a piece of shrapnel from a mortar round through the back of my leg, keeping me off patrol for two weeks. During that time, my squad had lost two men in an ambush, and I couldn’t help but think that if I had been there, they might have lived. Or at least lived long enough to die in the Zombie Apocalypse.
I was broken out of my reverie by a burst of fire from the top floor of the house. Three flat CRACKS that I immediately placed as coming from an AK -47. One of the rounds plowed its way through the wall and ricocheted off the roof of the HUMVEE. Brit started to spin the turret but I motioned for her to hold her fire. The CRACKS had been followed by two POPS from a pistol. A double tap from one of the guys. We waited another two minutes, my rifle covering the front door the whole time.
“ALL CLEAR” crackled over the team radio. I lowered my weapon as Ahmed came out the door, holding a battered AK over his shoulder. He was followed by Ahmed and Doc, carrying a skinny, malnourished body between them. They walked over to the edge of the island and heaved the body far out into the river. It cracked through the ice and sank out of sight.
“Welcome home, Nick. Sorry about the blood. Kid almost got me.” Doc was watching the spot where the body had disappeared. The river had swept it away under the ice.
“We all need a break, Rob.”
He unsnapped his helmet and took it off, slung it over the barrel of his rifle. “I think, if I can get a ride on a bird heading back west, I’m going to set up my clinic at the FEMA camp in Buffalo. For a couple of months, at least. I’m getting tired of the killing.”
“I’m not comfortable being out here with no medical support, but you gotta do what you gotta do. Stay for a week or two so we can get our defenses set up, and if you could give Brit as much First Aide training as possible, I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem. I need to restock up on stuff anyway, and I’m not going to leave till your ribs are OK.”
Epilogue
Doc came back a few months later, just as the ice was melting, jumping out of a C-130 th
at was making a flight out to Nova Scotia. I watched his chute blossom and walked out to meet him in the cleared field on the other side of the Eastern Bridge. After his initial welcome, it was all business.
“Task Force Liberty is on the move. They want us to scout from Canajoharie to Albany.”
“Up the Thruway?”
“No, Route 20. Fewer towns, less Z’s, less ammo expended. Their goal is Albany Airport and the Port of Albany. Navy is going to run a destroyer up the Hudson to meet them there.”
“Lieutenant Colonel MacDonald? What about me punching him out?”
He grinned. “He came to me to get treated for gonorrhea. Swore that if I didn’t put it in his medical record, then he would drop all charges against you.”
“Ha! Well, I’m sure he’ll forget soon enough.” I turned to face the house.
“LOST BOYS, SADDLE UP!”
PART II
Chapter 27
“You know what sucks about the Zombie Apocalypse?” Brit did her obnoxious eye roll at me. Another profound thought from our fearless leader. She humored me, though, and asked.
“What sucks, oh fearless leader whom I have seen piss his pants from fear?” Sometimes her sarcasm annoys the crap out of me. She sat picking at a piece of MRE cracker in her teeth. She was wearing dirty army ACUs, stained from weeks out in the field, her long red hair tied up under her helmet, blue eyes contrasting with the dirt on her face.
“Toilet paper, or the lack of it. That’s what sucks most about the Zombie Apocalypse. All those books we used to read, and movies, that stupid TV show, and never once did any of them mention that mice and bugs would eat all the toilet paper, and the survivors would have to make do with rags and whatnot.”