by Glyn Gardner
The Bishop cleared his throat, causing a nervous quiet to fall over the room. “For those of you who don’t know, we’ve lost one of our own today.” Most of them had heard about Ms. Hebert. SSgt Brown’s eyes met Sam’s. There was something strange. For some reason, he thought Sam should look more upset. Instead, the old fire captain looked indifferent to the death of someone who he had rescued.
The Bishop continued. “What many of you may not know is that our friend was not killed by the undead.” He paused for a moment to let that sink in. “She was killed by a band of criminals. These criminals didn’t even have the decency to parlay with our people before they fired upon them.”
SSgt Brown could feel that familiar tingle running up his spine. “Oh shit,” he whispered to Sgt Procell. The younger NCO nodded.
“These people pose a clear and present danger to the people of the Island.” His voice became louder and more passionate. “These are people I have sworn to my God to protect in these trying times.” He turned to the two soldiers.
“Gentlemen, I am now tasking you with leading the Island’s defense force. You will work with these people to acquire whatever equipment and materials you need to ensure the safety and security of the people of this island.” He waived his arm in a great arc.
“You people are now essentially federalized. If the Sergeants need anything from you, they get it.” He turned to the NCO’s. “Gentlemen, the floor is now yours.”
SSgt Brown wished the Bishop would have given him some warning. He had no idea what to say, or even what he needed to secure this facility. His mind raced.
He shifted from one foot to the other. “Let me and Sergeant Procell confer with Jerry. I’ll have a better idea of what I need from you folks after that. We’ll meet back here at zero-eight-hundred. That’s eight o’clock in the morning. Go back, brief your people. Dismissed.”
The meeting broke. Jerry and the Bishop remained behind. The soldiers and the civilian leaders began a long night of planning and organizing. As usual, when it came to actually fortifying the island, Sgt Procell shined. He drew out on paper his plans for setting up defensive positions and barriers not only on the bridge, but on the shoreline as well. As he put it, “We don’t have the only boats on the Gulf coast.”
Within a few hours, SSgt Brown was satisfied that they had an adequate plan for the defense of the Island. As they walked back to their sleeping quarters, Sgt Procell made an observation that sent a shiver up SSgt Brown’s spine.
“You know that man isn’t going to stop at static defenses right? We’re eventually going to go looking for those folks.” SSgt Brown thought that Sgt Procell’s limp became a little more pronounced as they walked along the grey pavement.
Day 39
The Island
The room was filled with the same leaders as the previous night. This time it was SSgt Brown who stood in front of the large map pasted to the wall. He held up a hand to quiet the commotion. The people in the room settled.
For a long moment, he looked at the people in the room. He hadn’t known but a few of them the night before. At least today, he knew most of their names, and a little of their backgrounds. He looked each in the eye, just for a brief moment. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he figured he’d know it when he saw it.
Finally, he spoke. “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for returning this morning. I’d like to introduce Sergeant Procell of the hundred-and-first Airborne Division.” He’d thought long and hard about how he and Ed were going to gain the respect of these people. “I’m Staff Sergeant Brown of the Louisiana National Guard. Between the two of us, we have over twenty-five years of military experience and just shy of five years in combat. Sergeant Procell is a Combat Engineer and I’ve done my time in the Cavalry.”
He could see that some of the people looked impressed, while others did not. He pointed again to the map. “For those who have forgotten, we have a potentially hostile group within ten miles of our current location. The only access to the mainland is either a bridge that measures over a mile, or by boat. The Island has roughly 3 miles of coastline. Given those facts, Sergeant Procell and I have devised a defense plan.”
He glanced around the room again. Every eye was on him. He had them. He just had to keep them. He passed each person two sheets of stapled papers. Each paper contained a detailed list of equipment and materials that would be required, as well as a personnel list. The list contained 88 names, each chosen by the two soldiers. Everyone in the room with the exception of the Bishop and Jerry was on the list, as well as others. The names were organized into an organizational structure. The top of the organization was Staff Sergeant Brown’s name
After the Bishop received his paper, he held a hand in the air and stood. “Sergeant Brown, it appears that there is a discrepancy. I see here that you and Sergeant Procell have divided the militia into two groups. It appears to me that these groups are too large for a Staff Sergeant and Buck Sergeant to run.”
The NCO’s traded worried glances. They had not run the Table of Organization and Equipment, otherwise known as a TO&E, by the Bishop. “Well sir,” SSgt Brown began, “We really don’t have a lot of leadership experience running around here. As you may have noticed, we are short on any form of officer.”
“A problem I plan to rectify,” the older man interrupted. He strode to the front of the room, Jerry in tow. “Staff Sergeant Brown, please stand at attention. I never served, but I had a friend who helped me with this. If I do it incorrectly, you will be kind enough to let it slide won’t you?”
SSgt Brown was stunned. He had an idea of what was about to happen. He could see the two shiny pieces of metal the Bishop was attempting to hide in the palm of his hand.
“Attention to orders!” The group stood as one. It was clear to SSgt Brown and Sgt Procell that the others in the room had been let in on the secret.
“Staff Sergeant David Brown,” he said in his most official voice, “over the past weeks you have demonstrated a dedication to duty and patriotism that far outshines your peers.” It went without saying that the NCO had no real peers in the group. “As such, it is my pleasure to recognize you and present you with this promotion to First Lieutenant of Cavalry in the Mississippi National Guard. You are hereby granted all of the privileges and responsibilities that accompany your new rank. You are also hereby appointed to the post of commander of the First Company, First Mississippi Cavalry.”
He removed the subdued Staff Sergeant insignia from the man’s uniform and pinned on a makeshift silver bar. He stepped back and saluted the new officer. Lt. Brown returned the salute in silence. The Bishop then turned his sights on Sgt Procell. To him, he presented a yellow colored metal bar and designated him a second Lieutenant in the Mississippi National Guard.
Jackson noticed the silver inch long piece of metal on Lt. Brown’s shirt immediately. Snapping to attention he saluted the new officer. “It’s about time somebody finally promoted you,” he said with a grin.
Lt. Brown was not grinning. To him, it now meant more responsibility. He was responsible for the lives of more people. He had been anxious as hell just trying to keep a half-dozen people alive. Suddenly he was responsible for almost 90.
Jackson saw the look on his boss’s face and knew what it was about. He’d heard his boss talking to Jen about how much he disliked being the one in charge. He knew how much the man desperately wanted someone else to be in charge. Hell, he thought, he didn’t blame him. People had a bad habit of dying around here.
Lt. Brown suddenly broke into a smile. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a piece of camouflaged cloth. “Attention to orders!” Jackson assumed the position of attention. “Private Jackson, over the past weeks you have displayed an inordinate amount of courage, ingenuity, and patriotism. Your actions bring great credit upon you, your unit, and the United States Army. As such, it is my pleasure to promote you to the rank of Staff Sergeant in the Mississippi National Guard. You are hereby granted all of the privilege
s and responsibilities that accompany your new rank.”
SSgt Jackson saluted his new Lieutenant. “Don’t worry,” Lt Brown told him. “I’m sure once the world is put back together we’ll both be demoted to our former ranks. But, until then, you are Second Lieutenant Procell’s Platoon Sergeant. He’s still too busted up to get out of his precious boat.”
Frank could tell that Sam was unhappy. The former fire Captain had been relieved of the relatively safe job of getting the plumbing working on the Island, along with the rest of his men. They had been rolled in with one of the foraging parties. Lt. Brown had made the rule that no one goes outside the wire, as he put it, without at least ten armed people.
So, here they sat; crammed into a speed boat that was too small for their numbers. The new Lieutenant had a new plan. Their part of the plan involved securing several tractor trailer trucks and shipping containers from the civilian port facility located on the far end of the bridge.
Lt. Brown had decided that the firemen would know how to drive large vehicles, and therefore would be perfect for this mission. Sam had tried to argue, but was vetoed by the Bishop. It seemed that the Bishop had thrown his lot in with the military and Singing River Island was about to be turned into an armed camp. That it already was, escaped the firemen.
The driver of the boat, a man called Bamma, told them there was a break in the fence on the east side of the facility. He would land them there, and then wait off shore in case they needed to be pulled out. He seemed like a nice enough guy but Frank and the others were mad at the world at the moment.
It wasn’t hard to find the trucks that they were looking for. They were scattered throughout the port. Most had no keys or the operators had left in such a hurry that the engines had run until the fuel tanks were dry. Frank discovered two vehicles with keys in the ignition, but the switch was turned to the run position. He didn’t guess he could blame them.
The sound of a diesel engine firing up caught everyone’s attention. The kid with the rock-and-roll tee-shirt on let out a rebel yell when he started the second truck. Both trucks had shipping containers already strapped to their beds. No one knew what was in them, nor did they care.
Frank could see the nose of another truck sticking out from between a long line of shipping containers. The cab of the truck was beautiful candy-apple red with black stripe running down the side. It too had a container connected.
He turned to look at the others. Most of them had crowded around the already running trucks. He saw Sam turn in his direction. It was obvious he was counting noses. He wanted to go. Come on guys, he thought, we can get three and won’t have to make so many damned trips. He held up a finger and then pointed over his shoulder at the truck in front of him. “Let’s get one more,” he yelled.
He could hear Sam yelling to him, but the sounds of the other engines, and the distance between the two men drowned out the words. Frank leapt onto the step that was inset on the truck’s driver’s side fuel tank.
He reached for the handle as he looked over his shoulder at Sam and the rest of the men. Several of them were running towards him, waving their hands over their heads. Sam had a look of terror on his face. The man next to him, Jimmy G, was un-slinging his rifle. Frank had admired the Remington Model 700 from the minute he’d seen it. Now, it appeared that he was on the wrong end of the rifle
The scope had just begun to cover the man’s right eye when Frank felt the door handle click. The door flew open as if something was pushing it from the inside. Frank turned to the truck. His brain registered three distinct impressions almost simultaneously.
One was the sound of a 30-06 bullet breaking the sound barrier as it passed mere inches away from his ear. The second was the report of the rifle that fired that projectile. Third, and most horrifying, was the sight of a grey faced woman, wearing a red jacket and black baseball cap falling out of the cab of the truck.
His brain couldn’t process so many assaults at one time. Frank had been an avid hunter and shooter before the dead began walking. His brain recognized a gunshot as a potential threat about a half of a second before it realized that the zombie falling on him was by far the greater threat. Frank ducked and rolled off of the truck in an effort to clear the path of the next bullet.
This was exactly the wrong thing to do. As he landed on his side, a large heavy object, wearing a red jacket and black ball cap, landed on him. By now his brain had reassessed the situation. He attempted to roll out from beneath the woman. He couldn’t. She was too heavy for him, and her grip was amazingly strong for a woman.
He tried to tuck in his neck as the woman’s icy fingers grasped at him in an attempt to hold him still enough to bite. The cold of her fingers gave him a surge of strength. He kicked with his legs and was able to roll to the left, causing the ghoul to tip over. Her fingers still dug into his neck.
Another gunshot rang out. Frank was able to get his right hand under the monster’s jaw. He wasn’t able to hold her jaw closed, but he was able to keep the teeth a few inches from his flesh. He kicked his legs like as if it would give him more strength. It did not. The woman’s face steadily inched closer to his.
Again, he tried to roll. This time the zombie was able to counter the roll with her strength and ended up straddling the fireman. He struggled to bring his right knee up between his stomach and the zombie. A third rifle shot rang out before he did. Something landed heavily on the back of the woman, driving her gnashing teeth into his face.
“Yes” Sam exclaimed, as he saw the body of the second zombie tumble from the truck. His excitement was short lived as Frank began screaming. It took the survivors a moment to realize what had happened. Jimmy G’s first shot had missed as the zombie tumbled out of the truck and on top of Frank. His second shot had hit the zombie still in the truck, in the chest. It had slowed his exit from the truck, but had not killed it.
The third shot had struck the zombie between the eyes, shattering its mirrored sunglasses and spraying pink-black mist all over the inside of the truck. The zombie had tumbled out of the cab and landed on the back of the woman zombie. The added weight had been too much for Frank to hold.
His screams told them all they needed to know: Frank was a goner. Without a word, Jimmy G shouldered the rifle. After a moment to steady his aim, and get his breathing under control, he slowly squeezed the trigger.
The rifle slammed into his shoulder. Frank’s screaming instantly stopped as the 165 grain bullet tore through his skull at about 2700 feet per second. The resulting overpressure caused the contents of Frank’s skull to partially liquefy as it exited from the three inch hole under his chin.
The zombie didn’t take notice of the fact that her prey had stopped moving. She continued to tear into his flesh ravenously. It wasn’t until Jimmy G crushed her skull with the butt of his rifle that her feast finally ended.
While they were out, a gate had been fashioned through the barrier on the bridge. The three trucks drove through the open gate. After they were through the gate was closed. Despite the increased activity, there didn’t seem to be any undead near the barricade. Sam sure hoped that would continue.
The trucks were taken to the large parking lot area on the southern side of the island. There, a dozen survivors were tasked with unloading the containers and sorting through the cargo. Much of the cargo turned out to be pretty useless, the bulk being electronics and fashion items.
There were some diamonds in the rough. They were able to liberate a large quantity of toilet paper, paper towels, paper plates, and Styrofoam cups. Another container was almost half full with dry and canned foods. One of the cooks told Sam that their food supply had just tripled. She estimated that the current population of the island could now be fed for at least a month.
Lt Procell had pressed Mrs. Arrington and her middle school science club, as well as three experienced welders, into service. He and Mrs. Arrington had spent the night before exploring ways to modify the 20 foot shipping containers. They had finally settled on on
e design.
Once unloaded, the containers were modified while still on the trucks. Once modified, they would be placed strategically around the island. Each would act as a strong point in the island’s defenses. When someone found fifteen cases of spray paint in one of the containers, it was decided that they would receive a fresh camouflage paint job.
The trucks began dropping the metal shipping containers in their assigned places as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Lt. Brown inspected the first of the bunkers. He was pleased at what he found.
The double doors which were on the end had been sealed and a six by two foot door cut on one of the long sides. The three remaining sides were reinforced on the inside with plywood boxes built four feet high and six inches thick along the length of the side. The boxes were filled with sand. Above the top of the wooden boxes, the welders had cut eight inch by eighteen inch firing slits into the metal. This allowed the defenders to fight from within a relatively bulletproof structure.
There were also foot holes cut into the back side of the bunker near each end. This would allow defenders to climb on top of the bunker. The plan was to place sandbags around the top of the containers; when and if they found some sandbags. Lt Procell argued having two levels would make them more difficult to put out of action. An added benefit, he had pointed out, was that the extra eight feet of height would give the crew a better field of view.
After dinner, Kerry didn’t go back to her bed. Instead, she found some wood scraps and a can of gold spray paint. She took them to the building she had been eying for a few days. The building was the smallest one on the island. It was located roughly in the center of the living area, across the road from the cafeteria.
She began hammering two scraps of wood into a rough cross. It stood about five feet high. She added two coats of gold paint to the makeshift cross. After she finished that cross, she began another, smaller, cross. This one, she made with a wooden base.