Rotters (Book 2): Bravo Company

by Carl R. Cart

  I steered the Humvee down the rutted jungle road as fast as I dared. We caught up to the other survivors quickly.

  “I can’t believe I actually got out of there alive,” I laughed.

  “We ain’t on the planes yet,” Sgt. McAllister replied.

  We drove through the pitch-black rain forest. The tree trunks flashed by on either side in my headlights, but we spotted no zombies. We had left them in our rearview. I relaxed just a little.

  “What are we going to do about the major?” I asked.

  “Not a damn thing,” McAllister answered. “That was the best thing in the world that could have happened for you.”

  “But he shot the colonel in cold blood,” I retorted.

  “Why do you care all of a sudden, Parsons?” the sergeant asked. “You got exactly what you wanted. If the old man still wants to put you in Leavenworth at least you’ve got some leverage on him. Let it go.”

  I realized he was right. He usually was.

  We had covered about ten miles when they hit us. We were running tight, just trying to get back to the airfield. Sgt. Price stopped the lead vehicle hard. A huge tree was down across the track. We bunched up behind him. I slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting the cargo truck in the ass.

  Before Price could even get his door open a rocket propelled grenade streaked from the trees on our left. The lead Humvee exploded with a deafening roar. It jumped off the road and flipped, awash in flames.

  “RPG!” McAllister screamed. He elbowed my hands away and hit the gear shift, throwing the vehicle into reverse. I snapped out of my shock and floored the truck. We accelerated away from the ambush.

  Small arms fire erupted from the forest on either side, raking the cargo truck. I saw its brake lights go out and then its reverse light came on. It pulled back towards us, weaving erratically. I craned my head around, trying desperately to keep the Humvee on the track.

  A few stray bullets hit our front end; one cracked the windshield, but no one was hit.

  We backed around a tight corner, out of the fire.

  “Slow down, wait for the others,” McAllister ordered.

  I reluctantly eased off the accelerator until we were creeping back the way we had come. The cargo truck slewed around the corner and sped towards us.

  I flashed my headlights at the driver. He stood on the brakes, barely missing me. We retreated about three miles back down the road. Finally, McAllister ordered me to stop.

  We pulled to the side of the track and bailed out of the trucks. Flashlights pierced the darkness.

  McAllister ran forward. One of the men from 2nd Platoon had been shot through the thigh. The others helped him out, and the sergeant worked to stop the bleeding.

  Maj. Dorset walked back and forth on the track, screaming obscenities at the forest.

  He moved towards the others. “Why did they fire on us?” he asked. “Someone answer me!”

  McAllister looked up in exasperation. “Sir, this is Africa. They don’t need a reason. You definitely offended their leader when we forced our way into the village. They have probably been waiting us the whole time; they knew we would have to come back up that road,” he explained.

  I walked slowly forward toward the other survivors. Counting the wounded man there were only ten of us left, half of them noncombatants. Sgt. Price and the other mechanic had died in the RPG attack.

  McAllister finished stabilizing the wounded man by wrapping a compression bandage around his leg. He looked up as I approached.

  “Get the gear out of the Humvee,” he growled. “We are walking out.”

  The major stomped over. “What?” he demanded.

  “We have to walk out, around the rebels,” McAllister explained. “It is our only chance.”

  “We can’t leave the vehicles, it is a good twenty miles to the air field,” the major stated.

  “Sir, the road is now completely impassible. We can’t go forward into another ambush, and we can’t go back to the village. We have to circle around the rebels to the airfield. They won’t expect us to take to the forest. We should be able to slip past them,” the sergeant explained. He poured water from his canteen over his hands to wash the blood away.

  “We can’t just wander off into the rain forest, Sergeant. It’s dark and we’ll lose our way,” the major complained.

  “I’ve got a map and compass, and my GPS,” McAllister countered.

  The major digested this for a few seconds. He seemed indecisive. “Fine,” he relented.

  He walked to the rear of the cargo truck.

  “We will take as many of the survivors with us as we can carry,” the major snapped. “You corpsmen, unload the stretchers.”

  The medics walked slowly to the truck and began to unload the struggling zombies still strapped to their stretchers.

  Sgt. McAllister shook his head in disbelief.

  “Sir, we can’t carry those things twenty miles through the brush,” he growled.

  “We can, and we will,” the major retorted. “That’s a fucking order, Sergeant.”

  I could tell that McAllister was close to the breaking point. Even he was not believing how crazy this order was.

  “Sir…” he began again.

  “Sgt. McAllister, I have just issued you a lawful order. Do you feel that this order is in any way unlawful?” the major asked calmly.

  “Not unlawful, just insane,” McAllister responded. “We can’t carry them that far. They will slow us down to a crawl, and there is no reason to take them. They’re not survivors; they are fucking dead, sir! And not just dead, but dead weight. I honestly don’t understand what you are hoping to accomplish with this, sir.”

  “I will not return without them,” the major grated. “We were sent here to rescue these men. We will take them home!”

  McAllister considered this for a long moment. “Alright, I reckon we can carry two of them, but that’s it. We can switch out in pairs, and somebody has to stay on point. There’s exactly nine of us, not counting Smith, there, with a bullet in his leg. You’ll have to carry some too, sir.”

  The major smiled, “Excellent, Sergeant. That’s the spirit.” He pointed to the two nearest cadavers. “We’ll take these two brave men home.”

  McAllister walked back to the Humvee. He pulled me along.

  “Let’s get what we can carry,” he suggested.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what to make of that,” the sergeant responded. “I think that somehow the major feels like we need to at least bring something out, so that the mission doesn’t seem like such a complete failure.”

  We rummaged through the vehicle. The sergeant grabbed the last SAW and its remaining ammo. He stuffed our last grenades and Claymores into a sack, and slung it over his shoulder.

  “You want me to carry some of that, Sarge?” I asked.

  “Naw, I got this shit. You take the mobile radio, and carry all the spare water and food you can. We’ll need it before we get to the field. It’ll take us two days to get there, maybe three.”

  I grabbed some MREs and as much water as I figured I could haul. I shrugged on my pack, it weighed at least sixty pounds.

  Sgt. McAllister opened the hood of the Humvee. He jerked loose the battery cables, then pulled out his knife and sawed through the main wiring harness at the firewall. He walked forward and repeated the operation on the cargo truck.

  “Do you think that’s wise, Sergeant?” Maj. Dorset asked.

  “I’m not leaving them for the rebels, sir,” he countered. “Trust me; we ain’t ever coming back here.”

  We reformed our sadly depleted group. The four remaining corpsmen picked up the stretchers. At least they were used to this shit. I wasn’t looking forward to humping a zombie on a stretcher through the woods all night long. I knew it was going to suck.

  The sergeant briefed us in a low voice, “Cat’s eyes, everyone follow the man ahead of him, stay tight and quiet.”

  McAll
ister gave a band to the rear corpsman on each stretcher. He had remembered to bring them along, just in case. He was good at that shit. Combat troops already had them on the back of our helmets or hats. The tabs glowed a faint green, just enough to follow in the darkness. They didn’t keep you from tripping over roots and falling into mud holes.

  The sergeant continued, “We’ll march until I’m sure we’ve gotten clear of the rebels, then we’ll rest until first light.”

  McAllister strode out ahead on point and didn’t look back. He was the only one who knew where he was going.

  The major pointed after him and ordered us to march. We fell into a line with the stretchers in the middle. Gordo and I joined the dejected little parade as we moved off into the rain forest. Smith hobbled along behind us as best he could. I looked back at the struggling corpses we were leaving behind on their stretchers in the road and shuddered.

  Ten steps off the track the forest closed in on all sides. We plunged into the darkness and slowly felt our way forward. Sgt. McAllister led us away from the road, east towards the Congo River. The rebels would not expect us to go that way. I continually tripped and stumbled over rocks and roots. I followed the man ahead of me; his tab bobbed up and down in the darkness, a faint green blob of light.

  We struggled on through the rough terrain. At least the ground was fairly flat and level. I quickly began to sweat. I smelled almost as bad as the zombies we had been fighting. I was thirsty and hungry and absolutely miserable. I slowly ate a cold MRE packet of chicken noodles as I stumped along. I ended up wearing more of it than I ate. My pack straps dug into my shoulders mercilessly, and my legs hurt like a bitch. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore we stopped.

  I plopped down with a groan and drank some very warm canteen water. I wished in vain for an ice cold beer. After a few minutes, the sergeant walked back down the line. He told me and Gordo to switch out with the corpsmen, my pack for the stretcher. I was too tired to complain.

  I gratefully gave my heavy bag to the medic and walked forward. Gordo and I lifted the stretcher. The fucking zombie thrashed back and forth, jerking the handles in my hands. You have to carry a stretcher to truly appreciate it. After five minutes I was ready to pitch the fucker into the brush and take the ass ripping, but I gritted my teeth and sucked it up.

  Gordo and I staggered along, pulling and pushing against each other as our footing changed with the ground. I went down hard as I stepped into a mud hole. The stretcher got away from me, and Gordo cussed me for a clumsy bastard. I climbed out of the clinging mud and retrieved our passenger. We lifted him with a groan and staggered onward. The time we carried the zombie extended out into one long, agonizing stretch of pulled muscles, twisted ankles and banged up shins. I pushed myself beyond the limits of pain and strength.

  I didn’t remember stopping, but Gordo had dropped his end. He came forward and helped me lower the stretcher. The line had stopped for a rest. I staggered over to a nearby tree trunk and collapsed gratefully back against it. My arms were numb, and my back was a twitching mass of spasms and pain. I stretched and rubbed my arms and legs, trying to work out the cramps. I was there for maybe ten minutes before the corpsman came back with my pack and dumped it at my feet. He and his partner slowly lifted the stretcher and painfully limped away with it. I struggled back into my pack with a groan, and followed them down the trail.

  We moved slowly east as the night wore on, the sergeant kept us going in the right direction. We were all dead on our feet, and it seemed that the nightmare of walking through the dark rain forest would never end. Finally McAllister felt we were in the clear and we stopped.

  Everyone just plopped down wherever they were, with groans and general cursing. I dropped my pack and leaned back against it. The sergeant walked up and down the line, making sure we were all there. Smith limped in last, his leg had gone completely rigid, it was all he could do to walk on it. He sank stiffly down at the end of the line, and lay there groaning softly. I was asleep before I even closed my eyes.

  I may have slept for three hours before Smith’s screams woke me up. It was still pitch dark, and I was completely disoriented. I had no idea where I was. I snapped bolt upright, clutching my rifle and straining to see into the pitch dark around me. The zombies had found us, I could smell them. Smith screamed again, he was very close.

  I jumped up as the sergeant ran past me, a flashlight in hand. He stopped abruptly as the beam illuminated Smith’s body.

  A pair of rotten cadavers had crept upon him in his sleep. One was ripping bloody chunks from his injured leg with its blackened teeth. The other was cradling Smith’s head in its bony hands as it devoured Smith’s face. The wounded soldier screamed mindlessly as the zombies slowly ate him. His good leg kicked and twitched uselessly in the mud.

  I slowly approached, too shocked to speak.

  “Here, hold this on em,” McAllister commanded me, passing me his flashlight.

  The sergeant stepped up to the monsters. He raised his shotgun and blasted the zombies’ heads and upper arms away, pumping and firing the shotgun until they were shredded into a twitching crimson ruin. Smith was hit also, but he continued to scream horribly. The sergeant stepped back and pushed a fresh shell into the gun. He racked the pump and raised it for a final mercy shot.

  The major moved forward out of the darkness and pushed the gun barrel to the side.

  “Don’t shot him, Sergeant,” he ordered.

  “It’s too late for him, Major,” McAllister growled back. “Let me put him down.”

  “No,” the major replied coldly. “Leave him. His screams will attract the other zombies and buy us some time.”

  “Fuck you, Major,” McAllister growled, raising the gun.

  “Don’t fire, Sergeant, that is an order,” Maj. Dorset commanded calmly. “Listen, out there.”

  Over Smith’s screams we could hear the dim moans of more zombies, approaching through the trees.

  McAllister slowly lowered his shotgun. “Let’s move out.”

  We reformed the column and fled into the trees. I could hear Smith’s tortured screams through the trees for a long time. I covered my ears, but the sound haunted me even after I couldn’t hear it anymore.

  McAllister now led us to the south; we were trying to reach the airfield as quickly as possible. Somehow the zombies had followed us through the forest and found us in the darkness.

  Gordo caught up to me and grabbed my arm. “How did those fuckers find us?” he hissed in fear.

  “I don’t know,” I replied.

  “We are moving slower than they are,” he pointed out. “They are going to catch us.”

  “Yeah, I figure you’re right,” I replied grimly. “Don’t worry, the sergeant will figure something out.”

  We struggled on through the forest, trading out with the corpsman every fifteen to twenty minutes. The stretchers became heavier each time we switched. I didn’t think I could keep up the pace. Our line became stretched out dangerously, but I noticed that I could see further into the trees. The sun was rising.

  We struggled up a small rise and down into a muddy valley that stretched out between the giant tree trunks. McAllister brought us to a halt.

  “Everyone stay put,” he commanded. “I’ll be right back.”

  He disappeared into the trees back the way we had come.

  I gratefully sank down and shrugged out of my pack. I was utterly exhausted but I had no desire to sleep after what had happened to Smith. I sank down in the mud and lay there wheezing and coughing. I sipped some tepid water and tried not to retch it back up. I looked around at the others. The fucking zombies on the stretchers were more active than the poor fuckers carrying them. We were all dead on our feet. I didn’t see how we could go on much further, and we still had to go another twelve miles or more to reach the airfield.

  The sergeant was gone for about twenty minutes. I wasn’t worried about him. I recovered just a little. I struggled back to my feet and tried to stretch my
legs.

  I looked through the trees. McAllister had walked back to us. He leaned over and spat in the mud.

  The major stood up stiffly and walked over.

  McAllister slowly turned and looked at us. He laughed grimly, “You fuckers are out of shape.”

  “What did you find, Sergeant?” the major asked.

  “The zombies are behind us, maybe a half mile or so,” he replied. “They’re slow, but they ain’t taking breaks and they’re tenacious as all hell. I figure they’ll catch us.”

  “How many?” the major queried.

  “I’m not sure exactly, but I’d say around a hundred or more,” McAllister responded.

  “We can’t defend ourselves against that many,” the major stated.

  “No, sir, we can’t. That’s why we’re leaving the stretchers behind and making a run for it,” McAllister growled.

  “You’ll do no such thing, Sergeant! I am ordering you to carry those stretchers!” the major shouted.

  McAllister spat on the ground. “I don’t care anymore, Major. I don’t give a good rat’s ass for anything you say. You’re just as crazy as the colonel was. I think this damn virus is making everyone crazy. I’m not carrying those rotten fuckers one more step!”

  He gripped his shotgun and watched the major. “I’d keep clear of your pistol, sir,” he added.

  The major remained stock still. He lowered his voice and calmly continued to speak, “Sgt. McAllister, I have been ordered by the Pentagon to bring those two specimens out with us. We are to extract those two cadavers, put them on the planes, and return them to the nearest medical facility for further study. Those are our orders. I was not to disclose these orders to you or the men, but you leave me no choice. I understand your reluctance to transport the cadavers. You were unaware of the orders, and I will not hold your disobedience against you. I give you my word. If you will help me now.”