“I bet they start moving to the west, they want to draw Zekes onto 90,” said Sgt. Orderly.
Appearing suddenly, a string of white smoke billowed over the area north of the interchange, where I-94 continued northwest.
“What’s that about? Napalm?” said Evans.
“No, there are no flames. We would see them even in daylight. No. They’re trying to cover up 94 like closing a curtain so more will follow on 90.”
Orderly was right. The three helicopters began creeping west almost indiscernibly slowly. It took several minute-by-minute updates to tell for sure. More smoke continued to billow up over the I-94 portion of the highway.
“I don’t see any helicopters near there. Where is the smoke coming from?” I asked.
“Probably from howitzers at Fort McCoy. They can fire up to eleven miles. McCoy is a little further away than that but the howitzers move,” Orderly said.
Bill was watching too. He added, “There were self-propelled howitzers there for training when this all started. The smoke is probably courtesy of them.”
Fort McCoy was a substantial training base for the U.S. Army. Every time I drove past there I knew there was more to the place than some dusty barrack like buildings visible from the highway.
“You know they’re a lot closer to us than they are to Door County. Maybe they can help us when CB2 gets here. Lieutenant, would you be willing to run that up the chain?”
“I can do that Mr. Handsman. If those are self-propelled guns they could be here in under four hours without traffic. Ten or twelve at the most.”
Thank goodness for small favors.
Just imagine those men swinging from lines shouting through megaphones and waving just out of reach of more than three million zombies. I don’t know if they were in baskets or harnesses but they must have been freezing and frightened. Yet, they were there doing what they were ordered to do. One wrong twitch by the helicopter’s pilots and you know they would have been cut loose by the crew chief up above rather than risk having the chopper be exposed to a clawed, bitten, or even mauled comrade.
The technique was working.
As the helicopters crept west a finger of undead followed them. The finger widened and deepened. After half an hour of updates, I made an estimate of the number of undead drawn off the path towards us based upon the size of the contour surrounding them. Incredibly, I estimated 200,000 ghouls.
“They better stop. That’s too many to kill before they get to La Cross,” I said.
Each zombie taken off the northwest path would be one less we would see here. Still, we are only thirteen people. There were hundreds on French Island. The Doug Handsman I grew up with wouldn’t care about those people. Not a whit. The person who spoke last could not possibly be me. But it was.
In the next minute’s update, smoke appeared at the rear of the mass heading west visually cutting them off from the main body moving northwest. Smoke rounds continued to burst near the westward divergence of I-90 while the area over I-94 was allowed to clear. They used the smoke like valves to shunt a group of undead to the west. Then, when they switched the smoke’s location, it was like closing the valve leading west and opening the one leading north. Soon a gap appeared between the rear edge of the group that had broken off and the main horde. Amazingly, this attempt at steering was successful.
For the price of several hours’ use of three helicopters, some unbelievably brave men and smoke rounds, a significant body of walking dead was split off from their horde. This effort would serve as a model for other attempts around the country.
I showed Ruth Ann some of the fruit of my labors here at Christmas Tree. A few of the virtual web hosts, those make believe computers I had set up, were filling with data about missing persons, mostly children. Tens of thousands of photographs of kids along with identifying information were being uploaded by Lambeau, more every minute.
I didn’t fully appreciate why it was important for me to set up web hosting on my servers when there were zombies to find and kill. However, after looking at the photographs I counted helping to reconnect parents and children as among Christmas Tree’s most important functions.
Around 3 PM, Bill came over to talk.
“Brandt just told me about another aerial mining mission north of Port Washington.”
“Really, I didn’t see that kicked out by the optimizer.”
“Yeah, this one was ordered the old fashioned way. It shows you how on edge they are.”
“They were supposed to be having down time today for repairs.”
“There is a lot at stake. Let me run an idea by you.”
“Shoot.”
“What about taking down the garage door ourselves and using the material to board up the second floor windows?”
“OK. That sounds so irrational you must have a good reason for thinking it’ll help.”
“If Zeke gets into the second floor, we’re lost. There is no separation between the first and second floors. Giving them access to the garage means access to a small doorway that we can shore up. We’d leave your car in there and move the 4x4 back in. There wouldn’t be enough room for the Zekes to mass.”
“We’re using the back door out of the garage as our main door. If we open the garage to the outside and board up the inner door how will we get in and out of house?”
“We saw you have some rope ladders in case of fire. We can use those hooked up at the roof.”
“OK. Now you are irrational. Look at me. I am more than one cannoli past my prime. I bought those things out of habit, not because I ever thought I would or could use them. If we do as you are saying, I will be a shut-in.”
Of course, I was already for all intents and purposes.
“OK. I’ll keep thinking about it.”
“How about the cars? If we take the wheels off the cars we have, Ryan’s, and mine we can position them in front of but away from the building. As obstacles. No. That’s a stupid idea. Yeah, you keep thinking about it.”
I thought for a moment myself and continued, “Actually, all this talk about shutting me in makes me want to go for a walk. Can you hook me up with an escort?”
“Sure, I’ll go with you.”
No sooner did the two of us plus two soldiers, Specialists Bob Peretz and Bob Wisnewski – Bob and Bob, get outside than a thought occurred to me.
“What about the home supply distribution warehouse east of us?”
“Doh!” exclaimed Bill. “When we operated the safe zone we raided it a bunch of times. There should still be things there we could use.”
“Sometimes it takes some fresh air to get fresh ideas.”
“Puh,” said Specialist Bob’s rifle.
“Puh. Puh.” said the other Specialist Bob’s weapon.
“Why don’t we make this a short walk?” I said.
“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.”
“Puh.”
Over the Monday night and into Tuesday (Day 41), mortar teams attacked the small horde splintered off of CB2 along the path towards La Crosse and French Island. In the dark, and set back by as much as two kilometers, not a single team had been challenged. These efforts were remarkably efficient.
Just the same, a flight of three Blackhawks were spared from Lambeau Field and relocated to French Island along with resupplies of fuel and weapons for both the mortar teams and the helicopters.
The mortar teams and choppers made steady progress throughout the day. The consensus was that French Island would remain safe given continued attacks against the dead.
My morning meeting with Frank produced little good will and even less results.
“How’s it going there Frank, all rested, repaired and resupplied?”
“We have made good use of the lull Walter. Before you ask, the answer is no. Nothing has changed with regard to evacuating you.”
“Come on. I made a strong argument for staying here but as you military people say, conditions on the ground have changed. How could I know we would have to sit through a seco
nd horde even bigger than the first?”
“We cannot do without your data center’s results.”
“But you can do just fine with the data center’s destruction? That doesn’t make sense Frank.”
“We don’t believe you are in danger of being overrun if you maintain stealth.”
“Stealth doesn’t seem possible anymore. The fuel cell system is definitely attracting Zeke. Have your people figured out what is drawing them?”
“We have not made progress on that, no.”
“You can see our cameras. They congregate at the fuel cell fence. Sometimes they get agitated and bang on it before we put them down. I don’t see how we can survive a horde banging away like that. Before CB2 gets here, we have to shut down. You see that right?”
“At this time shutting down is not an option.”
“Oh come on. Seriously? You must have some computers in all of Door County. My people there can cobble together a temporary data center. We can run in both places at the same time for a clean hand-off. We have almost two days to get this done.”
“We search every building we clear, Walter. You know tourism was the main industry in Door County before all this. The best we have come up with is old equipment from lawyers and doctors offices. Your data center is the only game in town.”
“What about the supercomputer company in Chippewa Falls? There must be something there we can use.”
“The buildings did not survive. I wanted to avoid saying this, but if we didn’t have to put up with your prima donna antics, we wouldn’t. I said your data center is the only game in town. If we had other options, we would be using them. Is that clear enough for you?”
Ouch.
“What if I just switch the whole thing off?”
“The officer at your location will hold a gun to your head until you turn it back on.”
“And if I refuse?”
“The officer will pull his trigger and the technical specialist will turn the computers back on.”
“You would throw away my skills just like that? In the whole country there are probably only a thousand people with my combination of skills and experience.”
“Suppose that’s true Walter. You are a numbers man, let’s do the math. From approximately 300,000,000 Americans you say you are one in a thousand. So for every 300,000 people on average there is one of you. We have 300,000 people in Lambeau Field and you are the precious genius we drew. Are you with me so far?”
I did not like where this was going.
“Across the Administrative Zones we are collecting more survivors every day. Soon the probability of finding another computer czar is going to pay off. Besides, there are people here including myself who think you’re not the rock star you think you are.”
I was silent. The problem with having a worldview of “people suck,” is that after a while people notice. Back in Silicon Valley it didn’t matter because I wielded real power and, my world view was the rule, not the exception. Recently I found myself growing to appreciate being part of the human race more and more but it is too late. I was typecast.
Frank came back with an olive branch: “Look, you have been working with us only for a few days. In that short time, you have accomplished great things with the optimizer and web servers. You have come up with solutions to big problems you weren’t asked about. Play ball with us Walter. Sit tight, we will do our best to keep you safe. I have to go, Lambeau Field out.”
Bill Mancheski heard the entire exchange. I turned to him and said, “You wouldn’t shoot me would you?”
“It would make me very sad to shoot you.”
“Thanks buddy.”
CB2 passed Black River Falls. Lambeau had ordered no further attacks on the horde. Except for the possibility that one or two zombies might have fallen down and broken a leg, the size of the horde was unchanged.
The horde bearing down on Door County was south of Manitowoc. Manitowoc had a rich maritime history and played an important part in trade on the Great Lakes. It lay just 30 miles south of where the defensive line for Door County was intended to be along Highway 29.
Military commanders made a wise decision to stop their advance towards Highway 29 and build a stronger defense starting north of Kewaunee to take advantage of the Kewaunee River. Meandering northwest, the actual defensive line was about 8 miles further north of Highway 29 giving four hours more to dig in.
Stopping further north than anticipated also meant the military would not have to contend with the eastern half of Green Bay. Not having to deal right now with Green Bay, by far the largest city in the area was a major plus.
One other benefit of stopping to the north was that Interstate 43, the path that MA was following, sloped away to the northwest just as it approached Door County. If the horde stuck to the highway, there was a chance Lambeau could be spared entirely. If the line had been built at Highway 29, it would have crossed the Interstate, directly exposing Lambeau’s position to the horde.
Two massive operations were planned for today. A two-mile wide area south of Manitowoc would be mined in depth. The horde would hit the minefield just after noon.
We watched fixed wing and rotary aircraft crisscross over the area about to become an impassible no man’s land. Learning from the previous use of aerial mines, this time the mines were laid in an inverted V, sort of bell curve shaped, pattern. Last time, mines had been placed in a rectangular box. Most of the mines to the sides went unused as the horde narrowed in behind a spearhead. By shaping the minefield in an inverted V the mission planners counted on shifting the horde in a planned way, rather than the unexpected way the horde did on its own last time.
The horde hit the minefield in an ovular blob and immediately shaped into the planned narrowing point. In the daylight, the crowd that gathered around our big screen TV couldn’t see many flashes as individual mines detonated. It would be an hour before we would see pockmarks and bodies strewn about.
However, before the hour had elapsed, the crowd in front of the television had departed on a mission to liberate building supplies from a warehouse to our east.
Of the eleven soldiers stationed at Camp Christmas Tree five remained behind. Four continued the watch on the roof and one to operate the radio. Lieutenant Mancheski took both of our vehicles, our Volvo station wagon and Ryan’s 4x4, the other five soldiers plus Ruth Ann on the mission.
Ruth Ann had all but begged to go. Her credentials as a sniper earned her a place in the 4x4. With its roof removed it resembled an old fashioned Jeep. She gave her word she would remain in the vehicle and provide cover for the advance and return of the assault team. Specialist Bob Wisnewski would also remain in the 4x4 to cover Ruth Ann and to act as a driver in case the idling vehicle was in danger of being overrun.
Before leaving, the 4x4 was topped off with gas from the five-gallon can Ruth Ann had purchased before everything stopped and the people fled. The Volvo still had nearly a full tank. With the added five gallons in the 4x4 both vehicles had plenty of fuel to make what in theory was an eight-mile roundtrip.
Ruth Ann and I said our goodbyes.
“Don’t worry about me Doug. I’m sure the guys will take care of me.”
“I’m sure they will hon. I’m sure you’ll do great against a few dead. What if you find yourselves surrounded by too many Zekes for seven people to handle? You know they win with overwhelming numbers.”
“While you were watching MA hit the minefield we were watching a close up of the warehouse. There aren’t too many creatures there.”
“Based on movement? You wouldn’t be able to spot the statues even with our highest resolution pictures. Also, you can’t see inside the buildings. You guys don’t actually know what you’re heading into.”
“Hon, if it’s bad we’ll turn around. Besides look at this shiny new gun they gave me. I just have to try it out,” Ruth Ann said this in a joking way like she was talking about strutting in new shoes. She raised a sound suppressed weapon that was larger and heavier
than the assault rifles I had seen before.
“Wow,” I looked at it. “Is it a boy or girl?”
Ruth Ann smiled and lowered the weapon to her side. She leaned in to give me a kiss. I leaned into her just a bit harder than called for and surrounded my kiss with a hug.
Our watch on the roof put down the walking dead in our immediate area. From farther away the dead continued to be drawn towards the fuel cell system like dogs to a hydrant, always the same spot.
While the men on the roof kept watch, the departing team raised the garage door and warmed up the vehicles to make sure they were in running order. When they left I reengaged only one of the door’s hasps and locked the inner door.
“Base this is six. Radio check.”
“Six this is base. Five by five. Good luck.”
I had programming to work on so I plugged in a laptop within earshot of the radio. My work for the day was to begin writing a system to help identify people, children mostly, from pictures. Unlike my previous tasks, this one could take a lot of time.
I have already described the first big website that went live on my servers. It was a site to help survivors find other survivors. Mostly, it was for parents to find lost children. As pictures were entered, certain basic information such as gender, age and hair color was entered as well. Of course, names, birthdays and even social security numbers would narrow a search down instantly to a single or small number of individuals. Nevertheless, all the identifiers we use in our modern age of information were useless if the person was too young or too traumatized to communicate.
For these people, facial recognition would be required. This is a not a straightforward task.
I was just finishing making myself comfortable when the radio came to life.
“Six to base.”
“Go ahead six.”
“Pass on to Lambeau we can see Zeke headed in your direction from at least half a mile away. Whatever is bringing them in; it carries at least that far.”
“Copy Six. Half mile. Will pass it on.”
Great. When the crush of CB2 is upon us, we’ll be a bright light to the moths. I was still thinking about this last bit of news when the radio came alive again.
Get Off My L@wn - A Zombie Novel Page 16