by Dave Lund
The Zeds thinned as they left the Humvee and Simmons behind; as much as Aymond wanted to retrieve his body, he couldn’t, but at least he wouldn’t be coming back as a Zed. Getting into more of a clearing on the road, Aymond pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor, scowling, intensity radiating from his body as he concentrated on the green world outside his NODs, sweeping the big truck around the Zeds as they came upon them.
Kirk slapped his hand against the door. “LEROOOOY JEEENNNNKINNNNS!”
St. George, Utah
“The fence is breached!” Doc yelled from the front of the standalone shop by the gate.
Chivo looked at Bexar. “To the roof, mano! You can’t walk, you can’t fight on your feet, come on!”
Chivo stood, Bexar wrapping his arm around his shoulder, and they hopped/ran together towards the expansive house. Chivo’s M4 bounced on the sling, his armor carrier on, magazines full; he would have a hard time due to the cast, but Bexar had no doubt Chivo would still be deadly. Bexar’s AR bounced between them from his sling, but he only had two spare PMAGS for his rifle in his cargo pocket, the chest carrier lying on the dresser in the house.
Reaching the house, Chivo stopped and helped Bexar onto the roof, the heavy cast hitting him in the head on the way by. Bexar leaned over and held a hand down for Chivo. Rifle fire could be heard.
“In a minute. You get to work, I’ll be back.” Chivo ran towards the shop, rifle up, braced on the back of the cast on his left arm.
“Dead in the compound!” Chivo yelled as he ran forward, firing his rifle. Bexar sat up on the roof, his left arm propped on his leg, his two spare magazines on the shingles between his legs. With only ninety rounds between three magazines, plus the one in the chamber, he had to make every shot count.
Chivo came around the corner of the detached garage, the fire in the fire pit lighting his face in reds and yellows, Doc over his shoulders. Bexar took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the red triangle of the Acog rifle sight come to rest on the face of the corpse closest to Chivo before pressing the trigger to the rear and moving to the next target. One by one Bexar, took down every walking corpse in the courtyard that was near Chivo as he ran into the house with Doc. The entire sequence felt like it took a half-hour, but in reality it was less than five seconds.
Angel came out of the house firing an AK-47 on full-auto, changing magazines quickly and firing another full magazine’s worth. “Bexar, get down here; you’ve got to get inside.”
“What?”
“Come here Bexar, trust me!”
Bexar slid to the edge of the roof, his magazines falling to the ground as he turned and lowered himself, Angel helping catch him as he fell. He threw his arm over Angel’s shoulder, and they hopped towards the door. Moments later they were in the house. Guillermo pushed a red button in the vestibule for the front door and, with a hard thunk, heavy metal shutters fell into place at each of the windows and doors, turning the house into a bunker.
Bexar looked a little bewildered.
“The shutters were my idea. Angel designed them. The walls are CMU with reinforced concrete, too.”
“Impressive.” Bexar couldn’t imagine what all of this cost to build, much less how they’d kept it a secret. If they’d kept it a secret during the construction process.
Angel did a head count and everyone was accounted for, but Doc was in trouble. She lay on the kitchen table, blood pooling across the table and on the floor.
“Was she bit?” Chivo asked anxiously.
“No, shot … where is your trauma bag?”
John ran off to get it, returning quickly. With the EMS shears Chivo cut the clothes off of Doc, leaving her nude on the table, blood pooling.
“Blood check. Guillermo, help me out here, I’m a hand short.”
“What’s a blood check?”
“Run your hands on her body. There’s too much blood to see injury; I need you to feel for injuries, bullet holes, bites, anything through the blood.”
“Got it!”
Guillermo checked Doc front and back, finding an entry wound just above her right shoulder blade. The bullet had come out the top of her chest, ripping the top half of her right breast off.
Chivo was trying to work fast, but the cast was in the way “Angel, John, someone get me a fucking Dremel or saw or whatever the fuck you can cut and cut this fucking cast off!”
John ran out of the room.
Chivo ripped open a package of gauze with his teeth and handed it to Guillermo. Rolling Doc onto her side, Guillermo pushing the gauze hard against the entry wound. More packages of gauze were packed into the destroyed flesh of the exit wound.
“Bexar, come here and hold pressure.”
Doing what he was told, Bexar hopped to the table and held pressure on the wound, the bandaging quickly becoming soaked with blood. A thin silver space blanket came out of the bag, which Chivo threw at Angel. “Open this and cover her before she goes into shock.”
John returned.
“Cut this fucking cast off my hand!”
Chivo sat down and held his left hand on his leg, John steadying it and holding what looked to be a battery-operated angle grinder. Ignoring what was going on with his left hand, Chivo called more of the group over to help, giving curt instructions, while Guillermo started an IV.
Angel ran into the other room and returned with a case, opening it. The case contained small glass vials. “We have just about anything you could want, just tell me what you need.”
Chivo rattled off some quick names of the medicines Doc needed, running the same process a highly trained combat rescue man does. More bandages, more blood, another IV; the tile floor became slippery from all the blood. The cast was off of Chivo and, although in pain, he moved quickly and precisely, his hands those of a man trained and practiced. Guillermo matched his fast but calculated movements with the well-practiced hands of a medical professional.
Doc coughed once, spraying blood on all who were near, before her body shuddered and stopped.
“Goddamn it!”
Chivo leapt onto the table, kneeling over Doc’s body, giving hard chest compressions. Guillermo used a bag-valve mask to give breaths to the CPR process. The whole table shook with each chest compression, with every attempt to save her life.
Doc’s head snapped forward, her arms grabbing Chivo by the shoulders and pulling him hard to an open mouth, startling Guillermo, who dropped the BVM. Bexar’s hand went up and came down hard on Doc’s forehead, burying the heavy CM Forge knife through her skull and into the wood of the table below.
“Fuck!” was all Chivo said as he climbed off the table, nearly slipping on the blood-slick floor.
The rest of the group stared in horror at Doc, then at Chivo and then at Bexar.
“I’m sorry,” was all Bexar could say. He thought of retrieving his knife, but instead pulled the space blanket up over Doc’s face and head.
No one spoke a word; the muffled sounds of the dead could be heard against the reinforced house.
Chivo broke the silence. “Do you have any body bags?”
Angle shook his head no. He appeared numb.
“How about a tarp?”
Guillermo stepped out of the room, returning a few minutes later with a plastic blue tarp. Together they moved Doc’s body from the table onto the tarp, wrapping her and her ruined blood-soaked clothes in the tarp before moving her to the garage for the time being. John and the rest of the group took to cleaning the floor and table of all the blood and medical debris. Guillermo returned a few minutes later, holding Bexar’s knife in his hands; he had retrieved it and cleaned it.
Tears on his cheeks, Guillermo whispered “Thank you,” presenting the knife to Bexar with both hands, obviously grateful for all they did to try to save his friend and also thankful for Bexar’s quick reaction to her reanimation, even though it had been devastating to witness.
Coronado, CA
Hammer lay on his rifle. The low, three-story building’s r
oof wasn’t where they had originally planned to set up. The original plan was for a rooftop at the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, but Aymond’s radio traffic spurred them into action before they could make their way to their destination while staying concealed. Just a few hundred yards from the west end of the runway, they were in a good location, just not as good as the one they’d wanted.
The ship they’d run aground and subsequently demoed had left a heavy scar on the ground and had damaged the buildings, which was useful in that it pushed the enemy forces closer to where their sniper position. Rooftops were not their first choice; dark rooms, where they could set up away from the window, in the shadows, was preferred. Here they lay in the open, practically exposed; they would have to work fast and hope that Happy could get there before the Chinese or Koreans rallied to find and kill them.
From the roof they could see that a commercial aircraft had crashed off the end of the runway at some point; they assumed it had occurred on the day of the original attack, but they really had no idea. The other end of the runway was towards the bay; any aircraft that crashed in that direction had sunk to the bottom long before they came to Coronado.
The rifle barked sharply, even with the long suppressor on the end of the barrel. The big 50BMG-round center punched the large square surface of the transmitter on the first truck, and moments later men came out of the back of the truck to look at the transmitter. Neither Chuck nor Hammer saw the men; they were already adjusting for the next truck, Chuck calling out distances and elevation quietly to Hammer, working seamlessly as a team. The transmitter of that truck experienced a 50-caliber hole through the middle as well. In less than two minutes, six trucks were disabled. The only trucks they could see that they hadn’t disabled were on the far east end of the runway.
“Range?”
“Thirty-four hundred yards.”
“Damn.”
Since they were unable to reach the far trucks, instead of wasting time trying for a shot which would more than double the last known world record kill shot, they turned their attention to any officers and other trucks they could find.
“Dagger-Two, we’re en route, coordinates … err, I guess describe where you are.”
GPS was down, had been down for some time, and normally for the team precision was paramount to their safety, but these were odd times.
“Far west end of the airport, south of the runway, will rendezvous, give us a few mikes.”
“Officer …”
“I see him.”
The Chinese Jeep stopped behind the line of radar trucks, a man from each running up to the Jeep as the driver opened the rear door to let his passenger out, the driver most probably the officer’s aide. The man stepped out of the Jeep and took a half-dozen steps towards the front of the vehicle and stopped, waiting for the men from the radar trucks to give a report as to why their machinery had failed. Just before those men made it to the Jeep, the officer’s head vaporized in a red mist, his body falling to the ground. Hammer’s follow-up shot went through the aide’s chest and into the engine block of the Jeep. The rest of the men dove to the ground, each taking to a different side of the Jeep for cover.
The helicopter hovered in the distance on Coronado, something that Chief would have to worry about since it was also out of range for Hammer. The sound of a turbine engine spooling up caught their attention, though. Close to a thousand yards away another helicopter was preparing to take off.
“I got’em.”
Hammer watched through the big optic mounted on the rifle, waiting for the bird to spin up and start to leave the ground. Once the wheels were off the tarmac, Hammer led the movement and fired. A moment later the round impacted just below the helicopter’s swash plate, and the bird shuddered before pitching wildly then rolling left, the rotor blades striking the tarmac, the helicopter rotating violently across the ground towards a fuel truck. Not one to waste an opportunity, Hammer fired a round into the large tank of the fuel truck, helping to start the large fire that followed.
Switching magazines, Hammer was sure he was overheating the barrel with this rate of fire, possibly ruining the rifle, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the now and the now was to lay waste to as much of the enemy as he could.
“Center mass shots, Hammer; give them a chance to turn Zed.”
“Good call.”
Scores of men drove and ran to the fire decimating the truck and the helicopter; any time one of them looked mildly important Hammer made sure they were given a hardy 50-caliber welcome to America.
“Last mag.”
Chuck keyed the radio. “ETA, Happy?”
“Five mikes, update position.”
Chuck gave a better description of their location and a street intersection they would move to.
Hammer didn’t need any more convincing; only five rounds in a magazine, five more opportunities to create havoc and strife. Ninety seconds later five more important-looking people arriving to take charge were laid to waste, center-punched in their torso. Soon they would be back to haunt their friends.
“Happy, exfil.”
“Two mikes!”
Chuck and Hammer climbed down the maintenance ladder; hitting the ground, they began to run. They were supposed to be a fourth of a mile south for pickup in two minutes. Running south on McCain Road, they saw a vehicle turn northbound from Harbor Drive. They both dove for the shadows, the overgrown bushes near the buildings giving them cover.
“It’s me, you assholes.”
They climbed out of the bushes and ran to meet their coming ride.
Climbing in, Chuck and Hammer found Happy alone. “Where’s Jones?”
“With the radar truck, picking up Snow and Gonzo.”
“Get to the east end of the airport and we can destroy the last two radar trucks they have!”
Happy turned the wheel and pushed the M-ATV hard; the dead were already flocking towards the glowing sky of the fire at the airport, making it more difficult for Happy to drive as fast as the truck could go.
M-ATV 1 Coronado, CA
Aymond drove hard, Crown Cove passing to his left, the incoming convoy of vehicles visible to Kirk using the remote turret, their engines glowing on the IR view.
“Two miles, Chief.”
Kirk swung the turret back and forth to check the view, watching the glowing engines grow in size as they neared. Switching to the night vision view, the scene turned green and black, the outline of the convoy growing distinct just as the night vision went to white out.
Above them the helicopter’s spotlight lit them up from above, pinpointing their position to the coming enemy forces, but also rendering the night vision devices useless. Kirk switched to IR on the view; there was nothing any of them could do about the helicopter, but they could do something about the convoy ahead.
“Looks like they’re stopping and setting a hasty ambush, Chief.”
Davis shook his head. “It’s like watching a police chase, except we’re in it.”
“No shit, dickhead.”
“Fuck you, Kirk, at least you have something to do!”
“Guys!”
Muzzle flashes could already be seen in the distance, the small arms fire still too far away to be of any danger and the armor of the truck being heavy enough to stop it.
“Chief, bike lane!”
Aymond veered left, bouncing over the median, across the other lane of traffic and onto the large bike lane. The helicopter followed easily, Kirk watching the men ahead scramble to shift their positions, more small arms fire flashing before them, some of it now skipping off the armor plating.
“Weapons hot, Kirk.”
Kirk didn’t reply to Aymond, only opening up the big M2 mounted to the turret, strafing the vehicles and men, the unarmored vehicles laid waste by the heavy machine gun. As they passed the skirmish line, Kirk rotated the turret and continued to fire on the men and Jeeps until passing out of range. The helicopter continued to follow, spotlighting the M-ATV as they drove,
Aymond bouncing back onto the roadway again.
“Chief, follow 75 to the I-5, I’ll take care of the helicopter.”
“Chief, we’re en route, same location.”
Aymond keyed the handset. “Clear.”
Racing again through Imperial Beach, they neared I-5, Kirk calling from the rear seat, “IR showing vehicle and personnel on the bridge.”
Nearing I-5, they saw a single large muzzle flash; the spotlight above them pitched, and the helicopter turned away before spinning and crashing into their favorite home improvement store. Aymond slowed and stopped his truck next to the Chinese radar truck, the transmitter erected and facing east. They were happy to see their teammates. All they lacked were Happy and his crew.
M-ATV 2 Coronado, CA
Happy slowed as he followed the road around the east end of the runway, turning left and away from their rendezvous point. Hammer rotated the turret, using the night vision display to aim the M2 at the first radar truck. Small arms fire flashed in the display; rounds thumped against the armor. A single burst from the 50-caliber machine gun ripped through the transmitter and some of the men near it.
Happy sped up before slamming on the brakes at the last radar truck, Hammer repeating the machine gun sweep and destroying the truck.
“Happy, drive over the fence, knock it over.”
Happy smiled; even Chuck had a good idea on occasion. Careful not to harm his truck, Happy slowly drove across the parking lot and nosed up against the chain-link fence, driving forward. The fence bowed then buckled, folding inward with the weight of the truck. Careful not to drive over the barbed wire, he backed up, moved further down the fenceline and repeated the process, Hammer raking Chinese and Korean soldiers with heavy machine gun fire. Satisfied the fence wouldn’t hold, Happy turned, bounced over the curb and sidewalk, across the road and median, before turning east and putting his foot to the floor on Pacific Coast Highway. A few blocks later he turned and drove up an on ramp for I-5. The number of dead on the Interstate was thicker than before, all moving north, towards the gunfire, explosions, and sound. Twenty minutes of careful driving later, he took the exit for 75, turned right and found his team.