by John Holmes
Their team leader, Captain Buswarry, was a good friend, but I wasn’t going to miss his NCO, Master Sergeant Collins. I was actually glad it had been him that took a seventy foot drop into the Susquehanna River. He had always been a dick, and we had gotten into a fist fight in a bar in Bermuda when he wouldn’t leave Brit alone. Too bad about the other guys, though. Buswarry was an immigrant from Nigeria who had made good in the US, going Special Forces. He was on one of the last flights out of Ghana, where his SF team had been training locals in a nasty fight against Islamist extremists. He had joined the Irregular Scouts when we were recruiting up in Maine at the Navy base. His two guys, both civilians I didn’t know, but he assured me they were good in a fight. A redheaded guy named McCross and a woman I first took to be a man. She was built like a brick shithouse.
When we had met them at the OPS center, Brit had kneeled in front of her and called her “Lady Brianne.” The woman, whose real name was Hart, looked at her like she was an idiot.
“Ignore her. She thinks you’re some character from Game of Thrones.”
The look she gave Brit wasn’t exactly friendly. I’m sure she was a bit touchy about her size.
“Get up, you little twit, before I squeeze your head so hard it pops.”
“Nick, I think I love her. Can I keep her?”
She called her Lady Brianne until later that day, as we were loading magazines. Hart put a friendly arm around Brits’ neck, then proceeded to put her in a choke hold that Brit almost passed out from. Brit gasped out “Uncle!” and the woman let her drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes. Red was laughing his ass off. When she had recovered her breath, Brit started to complain to me, but I told her that if she couldn’t take it, she shouldn’t dish it out.
“Maybe you should go apologize to her, too.”
Since then, she had ignored the big blonde woman. I did notice that Red spent an inordinate amount of time talking to her. Good for him. McCross was a quiet guy who did his job without saying much.
Now he was walking point, along with Red, who was trying to recognize landmarks. Soon enough, we came to the site. A canoe was still sitting on the shore, half swamped, and spent cartridge brass gleamed in the morning sun. While the team pulled security, Brit and I scoured the site, looking for something in particular. I quickly found the bones of Segeant Toshi, mauled and scattered by wild animals, but that wasn’t what I was looking for.
We found it after ten minutes, tied to a tree. A strip of brown uniform T-shirt, unnoticeable unless you knew to look for it. On the end was one knot.
“Red, you saw Ziv and Doc after the ambush, right?”
He thought hard about it. “Yeah, both were in the boats but I thought maybe Ahmed was down or unconscious.”
“Nope.” I showed him the strip of T-shirt, and called Captain Buswarry over.
“Hey Glen, one of my guys is alive, or was after the ambush. You remember Ahmed?”
“Yeah, that sneaky Pashtun on your team. Hell of a shot.”
“This is a message from him. He knew we would come after them.”
“So how do we find him?”
“We don’t. He finds us.”
He did, just as the sun set. We had pulled back outside the clearing and set up a perimeter on a small knoll. Probably the same one from where Red had watched the campsite.
I was watching the site, wishing for full dark so I could turn my NVGs on. I heard a slight rustle off to my left, and I turned to look in that direction. I found myself staring down the barrel of Ahmed’s Dragonov. He had slipped past our rear security and gotten within five feet of me before I heard anything, and then probably because he wanted me to.
Then we both heard the quiet “snick” of a weapon being taken off safe. Ahmed whispered to the figure that stood over him.
“Godless American whore, at least let me pray to Allah before you kill me.”
“OH MY GOD AHMED!” she whispered back loudly, and body tackled him. At least she had the presence of mind to put the safety back on before she did it.
“GET OFF ME, WOMAN! COVER YOURSELF!”
When Brit helped him up to a kneeling position, Captain Buswarry had come over, leaving Red and his two others to pull security. A quick, quiet conversation followed.
“Nick, there is a squad sized element advancing down the trail from the north. I am assuming they heard the sound of your helicopter and are hoping to ambush you as they did to our team last month. I have been following them since this morning, and I moved ahead of them to warn you. We have about twenty minutes before they get here.”
I quickly thought about it. Our forces would be about equal size, but they knew the terrain and could move faster. We had the advantage of surprise, though, because we knew about them, and they only suspected us.
“How good are they?”
“Nick, they are Infantry. American Infantry. Mountain soldiers, from the Vermont National Guard. Many combat veterans and survivors of the Zombie Apocalypse. They are good. I did not see any night vision equipment, though, and their weapons are a mix. One squad automatic weapon, but I think they are short on ammunition. The gunner only had M-4 magazines on him, no 200 round boxes, and there was a 30 round magazine inserted.” I didn’t ask him how he knew who they were, just assumed that one of their soldiers had disappeared in the prior month while Ahmed was living in the forest. We trumped them on firepower, too, since we had armed ourselves heavy based on the initial ambush. McCross carried an M-240B machine gun and we had two 40mm grenade launchers.
“Shit. I don’t want to kill our own. Until we get this sorted out, though, I guess we’re going to have to do what we have to do. If they ask for surrender, though, we give it. I want prisoners. Besides, I have a plan. Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Chapter 95
I sat in the darkness, watching their lead scout approach through my NVGs. This was going to be tricky, a pretty slick piece of timing.
In the center of the clearing sat a military issue flashlight, turned on. It was shining on an American flag Brit had had stuffed in her pack, suspended from a stick in the ground. I knew Ziv and Doc had talked. They had no reason not to. So the Vermonters, for want of a better name, had to know the US Army was back in town. I’m sure whoever was running the show was thinking long and hard about what to do now. They had ignored repeated radio calls for survivors, but real live soldiers were a different story.
As I watched the figure of the lead scout stop outside the circle of light, he held up a hand, and his squad fanned out in a line behind him. A figure rose up from the ground beside him where Ahmed had lain in wait, and a brief struggle ensued, followed by Ahmed getting up and moving away. The scout lay on the ground for a minute, and crawled back towards his squad.
Captain Buswarry watched with me. “So, now we wait.”
“Yep, the hardest part.” We waited for about fifteen minutes, then I took off the NVGs, slung my rifle behind my back, and walked forward into the light. I was freaking out. In the next few seconds, my life could be over. If they rejected our terms, I would get shot.
“I just want to talk” I yelled into the darkness. “Send out your senior man!” I held my hands palms up, in a gesture of peace.
Stepping into the circle of light, a figure clad in old style BDUs slowly walked forward, dropping down his M-4 as he approached.
“Son of a bitch. Nick Agostine.”
“Danny Westbrook. I’ll be damned.”
I held out my hand, and he pulled me into a bear hug. “Damn,” I said. “I haven’t seen you since you got blown out of your HUMVEE in Mosul!” He stepped back and held up his left hand, showing me that it was missing three fingers.
“Cool!” I said. “Check this out, zombie bite!” and I rolled up my pants leg to show him the carbon fiber leg.
We both turned and waved our teams in, and they eyed each other warily in the dim light, pointedly not aiming at each other. I wondered which one of them had killed Svenson and Toshi, but I had to
put that aside if we were to have a chance in hell of pulling this off. Danny pulled up a log to sit on while we talked, and he gave us the down low on what was happening on this end of the lake.
“Well, first off, let me tell you, I wasn’t in charge of the patrol that ambushed your guys. Not that I would have done anything differently, I just don’t want you to hold that against me.” I nodded. “Your two guys are in the lockup on Grand Isle. That’s all I’m going to say until you understand the situation there.”
“Go ahead. We all have a story to tell.”
“It’s like this. You guys are the first ones we’ve seen in what, three years from the federal government?”
“So far as I know, but there is satellite news and the Internet is still up in some places. You HAD to know there was still a functioning government in Seattle. ”
“Yeah, well, Seattle is a long way from here, and us Green Mountain Boys have always been an independent bunch. The Regular Army cut and ran once things fell apart in New York, and we had to deal with a horde that came down from Quebec and Montreal. The Vermont Guard, well, we blew the bridges to Grand Isle and hunkered down.”
I told him how we had done something similar in New York, with the creation of the giant base at Seneca Army Depot in the Finger Lakes. It only made sense.
“Well, that first winter was an ever-loving bitch. We had maybe ten thousand refugees crammed onto that island. The Adjutant General, Major General Allen, he declared martial law on the Island. That went over like yelling fire in a theater. We killed a LOT of civilians, Nick. Ain’t something I’m proud of. We ran out of food around March the following year.”
“So then what happened? Did you…” I left the question about cannibalism unspoken.
“No, none of us military guys did. The General made sure we, the military, got fed first. The civilians, well, we told them they could like it or leave. Most of them did, left. We’re down to about nine hundred civilians and about a hundred military all told.”
“Why are you telling me all this? Giving me all your numbers?”
“Because I don’t like the way things are run there. The General, well, a decent guy at the start, but all this power stuff has gone to his head. You know me, I don’t have much patience for being bossed around. Never did. That’s why I was still an E-6 when I got blown out of the service. That and he’s got some real nasty people backing him up.”
I thought about it for a minute. “Still, I don’t see what business it is of ours. I have to tell you, Danny, we just came back this way to get our people. The US Cavalry isn’t going to come galloping in here to save anyone anytime soon. We have enough problems with NYC.”
“I know that, Nick. Listen, you and I both know the zombie threat is way down, and the time for martial law is done. Last month, though, some civilians got together a delegation, asking General Allen to step down and hand civilian control of things back to civilians, and concentrate on military matters.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Yeah, well, thing is, I guess the General, and some of the people around him, disagree. He hung four of them for ‘sedition’, as he called it.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, so?”
“I mean, what does this have to do with us?”
“Listen, Nick. We swore an oath. You did. I did. Against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”
“Seems like I’ve been keeping my oath. What about you?”
“Well, this hanging the civilians was the last straw for me. Yes, we killed civies when they tried to storm the food warehouse. Times were tough. It was either that or everyone went under. Now, though? Some of the guys have been talking to your two we captured, and now they KNOW that things have to change.”
I glanced around at the half dozen Guardsmen who were on the other side of the light. “What about them?”
“Do you really think I would be stupid enough to go out on a patrol with people that weren’t loyal to me?”
Chapter 96
We had left Danny and his patrol to make their way back to Grand Isle, and returned to where we had ditched our zodiac boat. As I worked with Red to set up the outboard motor, and Buswarry and Hart loaded our extra supplies, Brit talked with me.
“Do you trust him? Believe his BS story?”
“What makes you think it’s BS?”
“Come on, Nick, I wasn’t born yesterday, and you get all teary-eyed around your old Army buddies. It’s like this big blind spot you run into.”
Locking down the engine, I hooked up the gas line feed and then turned to her.
“Look, Brit, all I want to do is get Doc and Ziv back.”
She laughed at me. “Bullshit, Nick. I know you. Deep down inside, there is this little guy running around in a Captain America outfit, screaming to get let out. You WANT to rescue those civilians. Power-hungry jerks are like your archnemesis. I could draw a freaking comic strip about you.”
Red chimed in. “Yeah, Kemosabe, maybe you’ll get your own action adventure series someday.”
“Stupid racist Indian.”
“Native American. Get it right, Paleface.”
Hart looked at all of us like we were crazy. “Do you all always act like this?”
Brit turned to her and yelled “Look out, it’s Jamie Lanister! The Kingslayer! Run, Lady Brianne!”
“I told you to knock that shit off, Twerp.”
“Yeah, Brit, lay off her” said Red, blushing, but he stood up and squared off with Brit.
“Wait. Oh my God. Red, Lady Brianne, OH MY GOD I’MSOHAPPYFORYOU!” He took a swing at her and Brit ran away, laughing. “I’m going to give you a step stool as a wedding gift!”
“I’m going to kill her” said Hart, but she was blushing, too.
Right then, everything went to shit. Like it always does. We had gotten so wrapped up in the details of dealing with the Vermonters that we had forgotten about what the real war was, fighting zombies. We were reminded in a harsh way.
It was a small horde, about thirty or so. Nothing we couldn’t have handled on a good day, but today was not a good day. McCross was on guard, but he was distracted by the conversation between Brit and Hart. The first zombie latched onto his leg as he stepped around a wrecked minivan, looking back towards us. It shouldn’t have happened. McCross was an experienced scout, had been on dozens of missions, and there was no reason for him to die, but he did. So did Captain Buswarry, trying to come to his rescue, charging directly into the horde.
It was a mad house, and we wound up getting away by running full tilt in the opposite direction while the Zs scrabbled around McCross and Buswarry, ripping into them. They tore them apart, eating their intestines while they were alive, trying to rip open their heads to get at the brains. We didn’t even have time to kill them ourselves. Red had to drag Hart away, and she screamed as her friends died horribly.
“RALLY AT THE END OF THE BRIDGE!” I yelled as we crossed over a set of train tracks being held out of the water by a causeway, maybe five feet off the water. I reached the end and spun, firing into the horde as fast as I could aim, barely missing the others as they ran past me. Red, who had been carrying the 240B while McCross walked point, flopped down beside me, extended the bipod legs and yelled, “FEED ME!” Brit crashed down beside him and started passing linked ammo into the gun. It started barking in short, controlled sweeps, arching through head height about fifty meters away, blowing holes through the zombies, catching some in their heads, knocking others down by severing limbs.
Ahmed kneeled beside them, emptying the magazine of the Dragonov, one aimed round per second. Two out of three dropped zombies with head shots, a regular, steady rhythm. Once I had caught my breath and the red dot on my site stopped jumping around, I started to add to the carnage. In the end, it came down to one last Z falling onto the water, shot through the head by Hart with her pistol. We were left with the smell of cordite and rotting flesh.
It was over in less than two minutes, but it shoul
d have never happened in the first place. I stood over what remained of McCross and Buswarry, the latter crawling towards me with that red glare in his eyes, one arm dragging slowly in an effort to get at living flesh and eat. The sight of him made me want to scream and vomit at the same time. I reached over my shoulder, drew my bat, and smashed his head in.
We got back to the boat, secured the area, and I sat down looking over the water. My hands were shaking, and I held them between my legs to make them stop. Brit sat down next to me and watched me for a second.
“Brit, I don’t know that I can do this anymore.” I held up my hand to show her. She grabbed it and squeezed it hard, let go.
“Nick, you can quit. Anytime. I love Doc and, well, I sortta like Ziv, but I am NOT going to lose you.”
I knew what she meant. An American general in World War II supposed that a man only had so much courage to draw from, a limited reservoir. I wondered if I was reaching mine. Even before more than two years of zombie warfare I had pulled three combat tours overseas. I had killed my wife after she was bitten by a zombie and had eaten our daughter. My leg, severed below the knee.
“Brit, I’m not going to let the guys down. We HAVE to go get them. I swear to you, though, that this is it. I’m done. I’m not leaving the farm again.”
She nodded, looking off into the distance with her good eye. “Well, no, Nick. There is one more thing we are going to have to do.”
“Kill Doctor Morano.”
“Kill Doctor Morano.” I looked over where Hart was crying while Red stood watch over her, one hand on her shoulder, watching the woods for more zombies. “But I’m not going to lose any more people. Swear to God.”
“Nick, Baby, you can’t control that. This is war. People die. Our friends, families, buddies. They die. I might die. You might. Meanwhile, we have got to LIVE. Snap out of it, Fearless Leader.” She reached over and caressed my cheek gently, then slapped me hard on the inside of my leg. It stung like hell, and I got her message.