Zombie Night In Canada (Book 2): 2nd Period

by Friesen, Jamie

  “A place for everything and everything in its place,” Corporal Crozier shouted at them. After the ‘where’ was explained, everyone was given fifteen minutes to make it right, then the instructors came back and started tearing their cots and footlockers apart. Punishment for getting something wrong was twenty push-ups, per infraction. Xander was lucky and only got two things wrong and had to bang out forty push-ups, which wasn’t a big deal - but a lot of other troops had had to do more push-ups than he did. Finally, after everyone had done some push-ups, they got five more minutes to fix things and then head outside.

  After forming up, the platoon did thirty minutes jogging around the base. Xander stomach was growling like an angry bear, but the jogging ended right in front of the mess hall.

  Thank God, Xander thought.

  “Okay you apes! You’ve got exactly thirty minutes to eat lunch! Get in there, stuff your fat fucking faces and get out here as quickly as possible. Dismissed!”

  Everyone broke off and ran into the mess hall. Unlike the morning when there had been only a handful of other soldiers in line, the line was already fifty or sixty people long.

  Some of the recruits muttered foully, but Xander just removed his beret and waited patiently.

  Lunch was on par with what he had eaten at Costco – lasagna, garlic toast, salad as well as some fresh fruit – Xander was stunned by the last two items.

  Where the hell did they find fresh fruit and veggies? Xander thought as he stood in line.

  There was even coffee and soft drinks. Xander drooled as his tray was filled to heaping and then found an open table and sat down, followed by a pair of guys from his section.

  “Mind if we join you?” The younger one said.

  “Sure,” Xander shrugged.

  “I’m Andrew Hoffmeier and this is Phillip Wyndham,” he said.

  “Call me Phil,” the older guy said.

  Andrew looked to be in his early-twenties and was in pretty good shape. He hadn’t had any problems during the morning, whereas Phil, who looked middle-aged, round and kind of flabby, had had plenty of problems.

  “Xander Barnes,” he said, sticking out his hand.

  A tall, lanky fellow grabbed it and shook it before Andrew could, “Nice to meet you, I’m Thomas Skinner.”

  Xander frowned slightly, then leaned over to shake Andrew and Phillip’s hands, while Thomas sat down.

  “So what brings you here Xander,” Thomas asked as he stuffed his mouth full of pasta.

  “Same as the rest of you I suppose, I got drafted.”

  Andrew and Phillip nodded in agreement.

  “No, no, what do you do Xander? I mean, what did you do, you know before the shit hit the fan.” Thomas inquired.

  Xander shrugged, “I drove a forklift. It wasn’t great, but it paid the bills,” Xander explained.

  “How about you Andrew?”

  “I’m a…was a marketing manager. Phillip was my boss,” Andrew said. “Phillip ran the most successful real estate agency in Edmonton, you may have seen his billboards around town.”

  “Thought you looked familiar,” Xander replied, then glanced at Thomas. “How about you?”

  “Me? I was a PhD candidate at the University of Alberta,” Thomas said.

  Phillip perked up, “What were you studying?”

  “Classics, my thesis was going to be on Homer,” Thomas replied.

  “Homer Simpson? That’s awesome,” Xander said.

  “Very funny smart ass. Yeah, I’ve never, ever heard that fucking joke before,” Thomas shot back. “No, Homer was the Greek poet who wrote the Iliad.”

  Xander stared at him blankly for a second, then said, “Yeah, never heard of him.”

  Phillip chimed in, “That was the epic poem about the Trojan War and the fall of Troy.”

  “Sure, whatever,” Xander said, shaking his head, “So how the hell was that ‘Pile it Higher and Deeper’ going to get you a job, egghead?”

  “I planned on working as a professor at the university. You know, tweed jackets, sweater vests, pipe smoking, and sexy college students,” Thomas said.

  “Real useful now, huh?”

  “Uh…um,” Thomas stammered.

  Just then, the other three guys from Xander’s section walked over to their table.

  “Hi, I’m Frank Bigelow, mind if we sit down?” Said the redheaded guy standing beside the table.

  Xander shrugged, while the others nodded.

  “But you can just call me Frank,” he added.

  A tall but very skinny guy said, “Hi, I’m Jack, Jack Ashton.”

  The last guy, who was as tall and wide as a mountain, boomed, “I’m Mackenzie McCauley, but everyone just calls me Mack.”

  Xander was more than six feet tall and quite muscular, but Mackenzie absolutely dwarfed Xander. Mack looked to be close to two metres tall and one wide – at the shoulders. He didn’t appear to have more than an ounce or two of fat on him either.

  Given that he’s as big as Mack truck, his nickname makes sense, Xander thought.

  They swapped introductions and were about to start chatting when Xander looked up at the clock.

  “I hate to break up the tea party guys, but we’ve got less than ten minutes to finish and get outside, so don’t think I’m anti-social, but I’m burying my head in my food and then getting the hell outta here,” Xander said.

  “Agreed,” Phillip said.

  That was meant by a series of grunts and everyone began to wolf down their meals. Not surprisingly, man-mountain Mack finished first. Xander quickly followed and then raced to take a piss and get out the door. By the time he was done, everyone from his section but Jack was already in ranks waiting in front of the mess. Other sections were mostly formed up too, but it looked like there were still a few stragglers inside.

  “Whew, I’m not the last one!” Xander said as he lined up. Beside him, Thomas chuckled.

  A minute later, Jack sauntered out like he owned the world.

  “Nice of you to join the rest of us, recruit!” Corporal Crozier bellowed.

  Jack looked at his Apple watch and said, “Yeah, it’s 12:28.”

  “12:28 what?” Corporal Crozier asked.

  “Huh? Sorry, 12:29.” Jack replied, after glancing a second time at his watch.

  “Good lord but you’re stupid!” Corporal Crozier screamed. “What did I say this morning soldier?”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Jack stammered. “I forgot, you said a lot of things.”

  “When you address me, you say Corporal Crozier, you fucking got it?”

  Jack nodded meekly.

  “So soldier, what time is it?” Corporal Crozier asked.

  “It’s 12:29, Corporal Crozier.”

  “Good to see you’re capable of learning! Now drop down and give me twenty push-ups!” Corporal Crozier yelled. “And count them off as you go!”

  “Yes, Corporal Crozier!” Jack shouted.

  “One! Two! Three!” Jack counted.

  “Not good enough soldier! Because you can’t seem to fucking remember my name, you will count like this, One Corporal Crozier! Two Corporal Crozier! Three Corporal Crozier! And so on! Now fucking start over!”

  Jack groaned and started over, chanting, “One Corporal Crozier! Two Corporal Crozier! Three Corporal Crozier!”

  Whew, Xander thought. Better someone else learn that lesson than me.

  By the time Jack got to twenty, he was panting and out of breath and each push-up was obviously torture.

  “Twenty, Corporal Crozier!”

  “Good,” shouted Corporal Crozier. “Now give me one for the Army!”

  “One for the Army, Corporal Crozier!” Jack grunted.

  “Give me one for the Regiment!”

  “One for the Regiment, Corporal Crozier!” Jack wheezed.

  “One for the Brigade!”

  “One for the Brigade, Corporal Crozier!” Jack gasped.

  “And finally, one for the King!”

  “One for the King, Corporal C
rozier!” Jack panted.

  “Good, now stand up and get in goddamned ranks!”

  Jack walked over and lined up beside Xander, red-faced and wheezing.

  “That gentlemen – and I use the term lightly – is what happens when you fuck the dog. I want to see a sense of goddamned urgency in everything you do!” Corporal Crozier screamed at them.

  “Yes, Corporal Crozier,” the section yelled back in unison.

  “Getting better. Attention!” Corporal Crozier shouted.

  Xander and the rest of the section snapped to attention.

  “Stand at ease!”

  As one, the section moved to stand at ease.

  “Good work. Stay there until the rest of the platoon gets out here!” Corporal Crozier ordered.

  As stragglers from other sections came out, they too were punished mercilessly by the other drill instructors. Almost one entire section was late and severely reprimanded, getting forty push-ups.

  “Okay, that was your lesson for today,” Master Corporal Girardi barked. “If I say 12:30, I fucking mean 12 fucking 30! Not fucking 12:31 or fucking 12:32. Attention!”

  The platoon came to attention.

  “Stand at ease!”

  They stood at ease. The platoon repeated this movement another dozen times by Xander’s count, then Master Corporal Girardi said, “Alright! We’re off, turn to your left!”

  The platoon pivoted and as it did, Master Corporal Girardi shouted, “Let’s go!” and took off in a jog.

  The platoon jogged slowly around the base for fifteen or twenty minutes then wound up at the base rec centre. Somehow, nobody barfed this time.

  “Attention!” Master Corporal Girardi shouted as the platoon came to a stop. He conferred quickly with the other drill instructors and went inside.

  He came back out a few minutes later, “Alright you dumb apes, time for some real exercise. Let’s go!”

  “Time for some exercise? What the fuck have we been doing all morning?” Thomas muttered just loud enough for Xander to hear.

  Xander grinned at him.

  The platoon followed him inside to huge weight room. “Section leaders, put your men through their paces!”

  Corporal Crozier bellowed, “Second section, our circuit is chest, shoulders, back, then arms. You, Barnes, you’re first. Get on the pec dec and show us what you got!”

  Xander climbed on, “Are we going for endurance or strength, Corporal Crozier?”

  “Endurance, always endurance! Strength is important, but endurance comes first. Now get going!”

  Xander set it at a relatively light weight and pounded out fifteen reps. “Are we alternating sets, Corporal Crozier?”

  “At least one of you fucking morons knows what the fuck he’s doing in here. Yes, Barnes, we are alternating. Get the fuck up and let Skinner have a turn!”

  They each took turns pounding out sets. Neither Xander or Mack flinched at the sets, but Xander could see Phillip struggling by the end.

  “Good work, onto the next machine!” Corporal Crozier ordered.

  The section spent the next hour slamming weights back and forth. However, because they were training for endurance, the weights were set low and the repetitions were high. Xander had continued to work out after the world died, doing both weight training and cardio. Despite that, he could already feel the aches beginning…he was really going to feel all this in the morning.

  “Good work soldiers,” Corporal Crozier said almost genially. “Now get outside and stand at ease!”

  The section raced outside and formed up and stood at ease. One by one, the other sections in the platoon followed. Master Corporal Girardi appeared, gazing up and down the rows of troops.

  “I think some of you marshmallows might just make it,” he grinned. “Now let’s get going!” He said as he took off in a jog.

  They headed back into the gymnasium that the morning assembly had been held in. Inside, the chairs were gone.

  Along the far wall, mannequins were tied to a variety of posts. A pair of tables nearby groaned under the weight of equipment.

  “Alright you apes, now you will learn how to protect yourself from the infected. The infected are dumb, slow and weak. They are dangerous only if you let them be. Go to the table and pick out a mace and shield,” Master Corporal Girardi said.

  Xander and the rest wandered over. Each weapon was basically just a broom handle with a Styrofoam pad at one end and a bicycle grip at the other, while the shields were street signs with handles bolted on to them. He scooped up a mace and a stop sign shield. In short order, most of the men had weapons and shields. A couple still mulled their choices.

  “Quit pissing around! Fucking grab one and get in ranks!” Master Corporal Girardi yelled and whacked a pair of lollygaggers in the ass, eliciting surprised yelps.

  Those with weapons scrambled into rows, while the last few holdouts grabbed the weapon nearest them and quickly followed.

  “Now you learn to kill the infected,” Master Corporal Girardi said.

  Master Corporal Girardi and the other instructors began instructing on how to land a killing blow with their mace in their right arm, while shielding themselves from an attack with their left arm.

  “But I’m left handed Master Corporal Girardi,” one recruit from another section said.

  “Not anymore you aren’t!”

  After more than thirty minutes of tedious examples, everyone began practicing on the mannequins. The basic move was to use the shield to push the attacker back, then swing the mace at the head. After half an hour of practicing on the mannequins, they were paired off and practiced on each other. Xander got whacked on the head more than a couple times, and despite the foam padding, it still hurt. All they had been issued for head gear was an olive drab beret with a cap badge on it.

  “Why weren’t we issued helmets this morning,” a recruit from another platoon whined. “These things hurt you know.”

  “Good lord, save us from the fucking pussies of the world,” Master Corporal Girardi shouted. “If you’re too much of a wimp to take a hit from this thing, too fucking bad! Most of you can barely keep up as it is, nevermind wearing a fucking heavy helmet everywhere. Helmets will be issued when it is determined that you fucking need them, not before – now grow a fucking set and shut the hell up!”

  They spent the next half hour doing practicing on each other, then another hour learning and practicing some basic hand-to-hand combat techniques, most of which were aimed at disabling an attacker, by taking out knees or the legs of an oncoming attacker.

  Guess if a zombie is on the ground, it’s pretty easy to put down or run away from, Xander thought.

  When everyone was thoroughly exhausted, they were marched to the mess hall and fed. Again, Xander was surprised by the quality and quantity of food. No one cared if you had seconds and nobody paid for anything – as long as you didn’t waste anything.

  “Goddammit recruit! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Jack had a bewildered look on his face.

  “You better eat those spoonfuls of rice on your plate or I’m going to shove them up your goddamned ass!” The NCO in charge of the mess hall shouted. “Don’t you fucking dare waste a single fucking ounce of food! There’s barely enough to go around as it is, without spoiled fucking cunts like you wasting it!”

  Jack shoveled them down and turned to leave.

  “Don’t you fucking turn your back on me boy! Drop and give me fifty!”

  “Yes, Sergeant Taylor!” Jack shouted and dropped and counted off fifty push-ups, struggling through the final twenty.

  “Now get the fuck out of here!” Sergeant Taylor shouted after Jack finished. He turned to the mess hall and screamed, “If the rest of you know what’s good for you, you won’t waste a bite of food either!”

  After dinner, they were marched back to the barracks, where a quick inspection was done, resulting in more push-ups of course. Xander got off easy, only receiving twenty.

  They were gi
ven a half hour of personal time, but Xander simply found his bed, dropped his stuff in the footlocker at the foot of his bed. He thought for a moment about brushing his teeth or showering, but thought, Fuck it, and went to sleep in his clothes.

  He was asleep thirty seconds after his head hit the pillow.

  Chapter 16

  November 6th

  Xander awoke to an air horn going off next to his head. When he opened his eyes, he realized the air horn was at the next bunk where Jack slept, whose eyes were wide open and filled with terror.

  “Get outta bed, you lazy assholes!” Master Corporal Girardi screamed as he towered over the shaken recruit. “You have ten fucking minutes to get into your PT gear and get your lazy asses outside!”

  Xander threw on his running shoes and olive drab exercise clothes and joined the stampede outside. Everyone from his section was outside in plenty of time and avoided punishment, but a couple others were not so lucky.

  Once everyone was formed up in ranks, freezing their balls off due to a typical November morning in Edmonton, Master Corporal Girardi shouted, “All right, everybody drop and give me twenty push-ups!”

  A collective groan rose from the recruits.

  “Better yet, make it forty! Now quit moaning and get your fat asses on the ground!”

  As they pounded off their push-ups, Master Corporal Girardi walked up and down the platoon, ranting, “In the civilian world, the squeaky wheel gets the grease, but in the Army, it’s the nail that sticks up that gets fucking hammered down!”

  “Next up is fifty jumping jacks, let’s go!”

  By the time they finished the jumping jacks, Xander was no longer shivering in the cold air. Fortunately, he wasn’t sweating either, which he knew would be even worse than shivering.

  Guess they might know what they’re doing after all, he thought to himself.

  “Okay, time for a quick run – follow me!” Master Corporal Girardi said as he turned and took off in a jog.

  “When we jog, we use a cadence to help everyone keep time,” Master Corporal Girardi shouted. “If you’ve ever seen a war movie, you know how it goes. If not, just repeat what the instructor shouts out. Got it?”