The Road to Hell- Sidney's Way

by Brian Parker

  “Hmm?” Jim asked, feeling embarrassed that the NCO had seen him unconsciously move his head in response to his internal dialogue. “Nothing. Sorry. I was thinking about something else.” He refocused on the task at hand. “Alright, we have enough Class Five to start a small war. What about everything else?”

  The noncommissioned officer went down the list of their supplies. They had plenty of Class One, the Army term for food and water. The vehicles were full of fuel and each one sported six jerry cans of additional fuel—Class Three in Army lingo. That much fuel should get them between 400 to 500 miles and there were plenty of truck stops along their route. Class Five was ammo, which they’d already covered. Class Six, personal items, was up to the individual soldier, although no alcohol was permitted with the distances they were expecting to travel and the unpredictable nature of the infected. Finally, they had two medics who had full bags of Class Eight, medical supplies.

  “Sounds like you’ve got it covered, Sergeant Turner.”

  “This ain’t my first rodeo, sir.”

  “Alright, let’s go talk to the troops and then head out of here.”

  They walked to where the soldiers stood by their vehicles, smoking and joking, although the term “smoking” was in name only since the base had run out of cigarettes months ago. When they saw the colonel approaching, they began to quiet down and he saw several people tapping others who’d sat down and fallen asleep.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Jim began, addressing them. Then he noticed two females and almost corrected himself. Thinking better of it, he continued, “Sergeant Turner tells me that we only have forty-one troopers available for duty. Two months ago, this brigade had forty-one hundred. That uprising practically wiped us out. But it didn’t. The Ready First Brigade persevered and helped to put down the revolt in our sector.

  “Iron Six has given us the opportunity to get revenge on the instigators of the uprising. As you all know, Lieutenant Murphy from Able Company was reprimanded for his actions on the night of October 8th. As punishment, he was sent to live in the camps for a month. While he was there, it’s believed that he encouraged the resistance movement that led to the uprising. Two nights before the fighting began, he and Staff Sergeant Wyatt, also from Able Company, stole a Stryker and headed north. Based on several observations of Murphy with two females, a mess hall cook and a camp nurse, we believe he took some civilians from the camps with him when he went AWOL. Of course, with all the deaths, we really don’t have a way of knowing whether that part is true or just an allegation.” Jim wanted to be as factual as possible when dealing with his soldiers. It’d be easier to maintain the lie that covered up his shame for putting Murphy in that camp on purpose.

  “What we do know is that their Blue Force Tracker pinged at a farmhouse in Tyrone, Oklahoma,” he continued. “From there, it went black and satellite imagery of the area is inconclusive. To be honest, we have no idea where they’ve gone.”

  “So… How do we find them, then?” a young soldier off to his left asked.

  Jim smiled. “Well, first off, we’re going to Oklahoma to their last known location. Then we’re going to go old school, begin looking for clues, and then searching in expanding circular patterns around their last known position. The US Army didn’t always have all this high-tech gadgetry that we have now. We’ll dismount and find tire tracks, .50 cal bullet casings, whatever we can to identify where they went next.”

  “Yeah, but isn’t it possible that they just turned off the BFT, or removed it before traveling to Canada or something?” the soldier pressed.

  “Watch your tone, Private,” Sergeant Turner growled.

  “No, it’s all right, Sergeant. Private ah…” He squinted to see the name tape attached to the front of the kid’s vest. “Private Stout has a good point. We don’t know what we don’t know. You’re right, they could be long gone by now, but I’m willing to bet that Lieutenant Murphy and Sergeant Wyatt are still in Tyrone—maybe even at that farmhouse.”

  “Sir, I’ve got a question,” a corporal asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “I was on Lieutenant Murphy’s first mission to the Sam’s Club. I was his gunner, actually. There were thousands of infected that swarmed toward the sound of those helicopter engines. What about them? We’re pretty damn good at killing them from up on the wall where they can’t get to us, but once we go out there, on their level… I don’t know.”

  “You’re right, Corporal Jones. The infected will outnumber us a hundred-to-one, maybe more. But that’s their only advantage. They can’t think. They can’t plan. They don’t do anything except attack sound and light. Now, I know I just said that we don’t have to rely on our technology to find Lieutenant Murphy, but that’s only partially right. We all have NODs and thermals, every one of you were issued suppressors for your M-4s for this mission, as well as the thicker uniforms, Kevlar gloves, and knee and elbow pads. What do the infected have? Teeth and fingernails. That’s it. We’ll be okay against them as long as we,” he held up his fingers and began counting, “one, use the equipment that we have, and two, work together as a group. No Lone Ranger bullshit.”

  Jim looked around the group once again. “Any more questions?”

  “Hey, sir. One more.”

  Jim looked back to the corporal who said he’d been Murphy’s gunner. “Yeah?”

  “Do you expect us to kill Lieutenant Murphy and Sergeant Wyatt?”

  Jim shook his head. “No, son. I wouldn’t ask that of you. Now, obviously, everyone has the right to defend themselves if it comes to that, but the ultimate goal is to bring them back to Fort Bliss peacefully for their trial and to recover the missing Stryker.” He paused. “Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” The soldier kicked at the gravel and Jim could tell that he had another question.

  “What is it, Corporal?”

  “Well, sir. I know we’re in the shit here at Fort Bliss, fighting the infected every day—and the refugees too—but… Is it true about the Norks?”

  “What?” Jim asked, taken aback by the question.

  “I have a buddy who works up at the Division Headquarters. Told me the North Koreans have troops here in the States. Is that true?”

  “I have literally no idea what you’re talking about,” Jim replied truthfully. “Why would there be North Korean troops?”

  “My buddy said they’re here as a UN force or something. He’s not entirely sure.”

  Jim organized his thoughts before replying. “I’ll have to ask once we get back, Corporal Jones. That’s the first I’ve heard about Koreans, but to be honest, I’m skeptical. This outbreak is worldwide, an extinction level event. They would need to be fighting in their homeland, not sending troops over here.” He held up his hands. “I’m not saying your friend is lying to you, it’s just not likely. But I promise that I’ll follow up when we return.” Jones nodded and stared at the ground.

  “Any more?” Jim waited a moment, trying to look every soldier in the eye to give them the opportunity to speak. Finally, he said, “Okay then. Let’s mount up and head north.”

  “You heard the Colonel,” Sergeant Turner bellowed hoarsely. “Let’s get loaded up and ready to move. I want asses in seats, ready to go in two minutes.”

  Jim grinned, despite the odd question from Jones. He missed being on the line with the infantrymen like Sergeant Turner. Well, looks like your old ass is gonna get to experience it again for a little while.

  3

  * * *

  LIBERAL, KANSAS

  FEBRUARY 11TH

  Jake Murphy crouched beside a dumpster as the group of infected moved past his position. They looked terrible, not much more than skin and bones. Dark grey and black patches of skin on their fingertips, noses, and ears revealed areas ravaged by frostbite over the course of the mild southern Kansas winter. The infected were alive, if you could call it that, and their flesh responded to the elements. He wondered what the damn things further north, where the wea
ther got really nasty, would look like.

  Snow fell from the clouds, blanketing the town in a carpet of new powder and furthering the perpetual silence that had descended upon the world after the rise of the infected. The girls back at the farm were sick of the snow, but Jake liked it. In truth, it made things a little easier for him on days like today.

  Sidney’s baby, Lincoln, was healthy—too healthy. He screamed constantly because he was hungry for more milk. Carmen said it might be that Sidney wasn’t producing enough to satisfy the kid, so the task fell to Jake to head into Liberal, the town nearest the Campbell farm, to find formula and more diapers. The snow helped him to see if the infected were in the area.

  Of course, he couldn’t rely solely on the snow technique. It helped, but he had the thermals on his M-2010 sniper rifle to check out the area before moving. The infected had changed their tactics somewhat since winter set in. They were much more active in the daytime now than they were in the summer, when they primarily moved at night. He guessed that it must have something to do with not being able to properly regulate their body temperatures, but biology hadn’t been one of his strongest subjects at West Point.

  When he was sure the group he’d spotted was out of sight, he eased his way out from behind the dumpster and peered after them. They were long gone, so he checked the surroundings once more before continuing. His target was the Walmart Neighborhood Market across the street from the Kansas National Guard Armory on 7th Street. He hoped the smaller store, which was much closer than the Supercenter across town, would have everything he needed. He didn’t feel like trudging an extra two miles—and then back—through the heart of town. Liberal wasn’t a big city by any means, but the city limit sign he passed coming from the Campbell farm said there were 20,525 people living there.

  That was a whole lot of the infected that he’d rather not encounter.

  He glanced at the armory, wondering for the hundredth time since he’d learned of the small building what types of supplies they had inside. He knew there was probably an arms room full of M-4s, but doubted there was any ammunition for them since there were regulations against storing ammo with weapons in military buildings. When he’d gone AWOL from Fort Bliss, they’d brought a lot of ammunition with them, but he could always use more. The silenced rifles he had fired standard 5.56mm ammo. The silencer made shots much quieter than an unsuppressed rifle, but Jake needed to find a supply of subsonic ammunition to make them truly quiet.

  There weren’t any signs saying what type of unit the armory used to house, but a row of heavy equipment transport trucks out back in the motor pool made him assume it was a transportation company—nice to know if he needed a big ass truck and had enough time to figure out which batteries still held a charge. In truth, it probably wasn’t worth the hassle. The loud vehicle would bring the infected screaming in from all directions.

  Jake made his way quickly across the street and down through a ditch to the back of the Neighborhood Market. He crouched beside another dumpster, assessing the area. Vern said that they’d never hit up the store for supplies, even though it was the closest one to the farm besides the gas station that they frequented. The infected had been far too prevalent in the area to try to make it into town before winter set in.

  The back dock was clear, so he sprinted across the open space between the dumpster and the elevated platform. As he neared the dock, a small, desiccated female corpse lay on the pavement, her face frozen in the pain of her death. Seeing the female’s body jogged his memory of the last time he’d been at a loading dock. He’d been in Midland, Texas sling loading tractor trailers full of food from a Sam’s Club when Sergeant Orroro was bitten. The NCO gathered everyone’s grenades, assuring them that he’d take as many of the infected with him as he could. As far as Jake knew, the man never blew himself up because they’d left before any explosions occurred.

  Not the time, man, he chastised himself. He could think about the people who’d passed on and all of those he left behind when he was back at the farm. Doing so out here was a sure-fire way to get himself killed. The infected didn’t give humans a second chance. One slip up and you were done for.

  Jake slid along the platform until he came to the back door. He turned the handle downward and pulled. The door didn’t budge. He placed a foot against the wall and tried to heave it open. The door was still stuck, making him think that it was locked from the inside.

  “Dammit,” the soldier muttered under his breath. He did not want to be outside any more than was absolutely necessary, but now, going in the back door was not an option.

  He eased down off the back dock, using the heavy rubber trailer bumpers to help himself down without making too much noise. The snow fell thicker now, obscuring his ability to see farther than twenty or thirty feet, so he lifted his goggles up onto his helmet and brought up his rifle, pressing his eye into the scope’s rubber cup to seal out the light.

  Scanning the direction the larger group of infected had gone, he determined that the way was still clear. When he turned toward the south, though, a solitary heat signature illuminated inside the reticle pattern. He pulled his eye away and tilted the rifle at an angle, aiming down the iron sights he’d mounted offset from the thermal scope. He had no way of knowing whether the heat signature was an infected, an animal, or a human seeking shelter.

  Jake’s unaided eyes couldn’t see anything but snow. He pressed himself against the building and used the thermals again. The white shape of a human appeared roughly where he’d last seen it, illuminated against the gray background. It was still a hundred meters away, so he turned slowly, scanning the surrounding area once again. He didn’t need to get rolled up from behind while he was focused on the one potential threat.

  Nothing presented itself, so he returned to the figure. It had gotten closer, but was taking its time, walking upright, unafraid of detection. That made up his mind. It was an infected. A human wouldn’t be out for a Sunday stroll.

  He slid back around the corner and pressed the goggles onto his eyes once more. Then he dropped the M-4, letting it hang loose from the sling around his neck. He had a suppressor on the weapon, but it still made noise when fired. Jake wasn’t sure how far the sound would travel with the current weather conditions, but he sure as hell wasn’t willing to risk his life to find out.

  Unsnapping the nylon sheath on his tactical vest, he slipped the seven-inch K-BAR blade free and pressed his back against the wall. Ideally, the infected would wander off in another direction, but that wasn’t how things usually played out. It was following the others, their footprints already beginning to fade under the falling snow.

  As he waited, the pervasive silence weighed heavily on him. At Fort Bliss, there was always noise, whether it was vehicles or people. Here, on the southern border of Kansas, it was deathly silent. The infected remained mute until they found prey, and all of their prey was either dead or turned.

  Jake was the only thing on the menu this morning.

  A ragged intake of air followed by a wet, raspy exhale alerted him that the infected was closing rapidly. It sounded like the thing had fluid in its lungs, probably pneumonia. It appeared around the corner and he tensed. The creature walked past him without turning its head. It was completely nude, like so many of them that he’d seen over the months of fighting. In the summer, they’d removed their clothing to help cool their bodies, he wondered if they had enough mental clarity to realize they needed to wear some type of clothing against the chill.

  Jake considered simply letting it pass. Given the sounds it made and the lack of clothing, the thing would probably die from exposure before too long anyways. He could simply let nature take its course.

  He couldn’t do that, though. Leaving the infected only extended the problem. He had no illusions about clearing the city, but each one he killed was one less that couldn’t wander into the farmland beyond and attack his friends.

  Jake pushed himself off the wall with his free hand. The momentum carried him
up to the infected quickly and he clamped a leather-gloved hand over the thing’s mouth and nose. The knife snaked under its flailing arms and he angled it up under the ribcage, plunging it home. The infected didn’t react to being stabbed, it continued to try to grab at him, while biting into his fingers.

  He was conscious of the position he’d put himself in, so he dragged the infected back to the shelter of the loading dock as he pushed the knife away from both of them and then brought it inward once more. Then again. And again.

  Jake had no idea how many times he stabbed the infected, but he managed to pierce its heart with one of his thrusts. Its movements quickened for a moment and then ceased completely. Still, he held onto it, not wanting to let the thing go before he was sure it was dead. He didn’t need it alerting any of its brethren that he was there.

  After several long heartbeats, he dropped the creature softly to the ground. For good measure, he pressed the knife through its ear, puncturing the brain. There was no recovery from that. Lifting the infected’s arm, he placed the blade of the K-BAR into its armpit, and then pressed the skin close, cleaning the blade as he slid it out.

  He quickly sheathed the knife and grabbed his rifle’s pistol grip to bring it up. Another thermal scan of the surrounding area through the drifting snow told him that he was alone once more.

  “Alright,” he breathed softly. “Time to find out who locked that door.”

  Jake moved slowly out of the loading dock and went around the side of the building. He kept his eye glued to the thermal as he advanced steadily. The grass underneath the snow was thick, but manageable as he made sure that every footfall landed solidly on the ground. The Neighborhood Market wasn’t nearly as large as a Supercenter, probably a quarter of the size if he were to guess, so it didn’t take him long to reach the front of the store.

  After scanning for infected, he made his way to the front entrance. What he saw there made him drop to the ground. He looked carefully for any booby-traps nearby, but didn’t see anything. Someone was definitely holed up inside the grocery store.