by Glyn Gardner
After a few minutes, she wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked again at Jen. Silently she promised the woman that she would never let anything happen to her. Then she looked to the ceiling. She promised God that she would forever be in his debt if he would help her protect Jen.
SSgt Brown and Jackson strode into the front gate of the Haven. Behind them were ten well armed men and women. When they explained to the people of the Island that they had found other survivors and they were going to raid a former military base for equipment and supplies, they actually had to refuse volunteers. SSgt Brown stopped counting at 26.
Roy, Jen, and Theresa met them at the gate. He could see from their facial expressions that something bad had happened. Behind them were another dozen survivors. They did not wear the same scowl that the trio at the gate did. Whatever happened, it wasn’t common knowledge.
After a few introductions, the two groups began to mingle. The leaders thought it would be a good idea to give them a few minutes to get to know each other. Roy had found a few cases of soda, and the soon-to-be raiders enjoyed sodas and candy bars. “Nothing like sharing a beer, or coke, to bring people together;” the sailor had said.
While they visited, Jen and Theresa filled SSgt Brown in on what had happened in the early hours of the morning. Jen made sure and left out the part about Theresa being asleep in another room. She knew the child felt bad enough and didn’t feel the need to call her out in front of SSgt Brown or Jackson. As if to underscore the encounter, a column of black smoke began to rise from a yard about a block away. Jen hung her head, again allowing the tears to fall.
For his part, SSgt Brown filled them in on last night’s events on the Island. When Jen asked where Kerry was, SSgt Brown reported that she was piloting The Sea Witch off shore, Sgt Procell at her side.
The convoy left an hour later. The sun was already high in the sky as the three pickup trucks and single orange Jeep pulled away from the front gate. SSgt Brown, Jackson, and a man named Troy occupied the Jeep. Troy was a local of this area and knew the best way to get to the Naval Construction Training Center. It actually wasn’t that far away from the Haven.
The streets began to become more crowded with stalled traffic as the little convoy got farther away from the Haven. Soon, they were forced to traverse not only crowded parking lots, but in some cases, front and even back yards. SSgt Brown didn’t like it. Too many bad things could happen when you can’t maneuver.
Soon, they rounded a corner and could see the razor wire topped 6 foot cyclone fence that surrounded the naval base. Troy told them the gate was at the far end of the fence line. This was unwelcomed news to SSgt Brown. The street leading into the gate was filled with both cars and zombies moving in between them. “Shit!” he exclaimed. “Back up.” Jackson backed into the yard next to the first truck, out of view of the mass of flesh.
“What’s the problem?” the Haven man in the truck asked in a not very quiet voice. “Shufflers , lots of them,” Troy answered.
“Well hell,” the man pointed. “That’s the fence right there. Why don’t we just bust through the fence and go get what we need?”
SSgt Brown wasn’t big on the idea of knocking down the only fence around and then getting himself penned up with whatever is already inside, as well as the ones that would surely follow. He told them as much.
“Well, what the hell you expect us to do?” The man was getting belligerent. “We need them supplies in there.” That was the problem. The people of the Haven needed the heavy equipment on the other side of that fence. If not, their new wall would surely fail if pressed by the living or the dead.
The young man in the big black truck didn’t wait for the NCO to answer him. The truck lurched forward as the young man jammed the gas pedal to the firewall. The three men in the back were almost thrown out as the truck jumped the pavement as it headed for the fence.
SSgt Brown looked on in horror as the man took away his ability to control the situation. He was about to curse the man when the unthinkable happened. The truck plowed through the fence, sending razor wire and chain links flying over the hood. One of the men in the back of the truck was upended by the flying metal and knocked to the ground. The man driving didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he turned the truck east and followed the fence line from the inside.
Jackson slammed on the breaks as the Jeep pulled next to the man on the ground. The trio jumped out, Jackson arriving at the man’s side first. The scene was worse than he had originally thought. Bright red blood squirted high into the air from a large gash in the man’s neck. He writhed on the ground as he clutched at the unending fountain of blood.
“Get him in!” SSgt Brown barked to Troy. The two men dragged the dying man into the back seat of the Jeep. In the mean time, Jackson was pulling the section of fence from the breach. The other two trucks sped through when he was finished.
SSgt Brown was just beginning to secure a bandage over the wound when Jackson slammed the Jeep in gear. SSgt Brown had run the tails of the bandage under the man’s armpit and around his chest. Blood ran down his chest and was pooling in the floor of the Jeep. He was struggling to secure the tails when the Jeep jumped onto the pavement. He finally tied the tails of the bandage as the man took his last, shallow breath. “Shit!”
Jackson finally caught up with the other trucks. They were skirting a small military housing neighborhood. The houses were small two-story, mostly painted grey. Many houses had doors that remained open. The yards littered with bodies.
Suddenly a shot rang out; then another. SSgt Brown could see that the guy driving the black truck had slowed down. Muzzle flashes could be seen from the bed. SSgt Brown could hear them whooping and hollering like Indians. Jesus Christ, he thought. These dumbasses are acting like they were out for a hunt.
Jackson pulled up close to the truck, honking the horn as he did. “What the fuck are you guys doing?” the big NCO yelled at the guys in the bed of the truck.
“Aw, c’mon GI Joe, we just having some fun.” The man raised his rifle and shot a zombie-child from 30 yards. The zombie crumpled to the ground.
“Knock it off,” he barked at the two in the back. The younger man stuck his middle finger in the air then took aim at another zombie. That zombie too, fell to the ground in a heap after the man fired. At least he could shoot, thought SSgt Brown.
He ordered Jackson to get in front of this guy and pull him over. Jackson gunned the gas, swerved in front of the Haven man, and slammed on the breaks. The other man jerked his wheel hard right to avoid hitting the orange Jeep. Before either vehicle came to a complete stop SSgt Brown was out of the Jeep and charging the truck. The Haven man was able to get the door partially open before the big NCO slammed it shut, just missing his fingers.
“What the hell,” the man began.
“Shut your fucking mouth, and shut it now!” His eyes dared the other men to utter a sound. None did. “Look here shit heads! This isn’t a drunken hunting trip. We have a job to do. The best way to do that is to quietly get in, get our shit and get out. You fuck-tards make more noise than a busted chainsaw. Now knock that shit off and let’s get the hell out of here.”
Airman Rodrigo Salinas was startled by the sound of gunfire. It sounded pretty close. He hadn’t seen another live person on the base for the last month. He’d given up hope that anyone would ever show up to rescue them
Airman Salinas had been temporarily assigned to the Naval Construction Training Facility two months ago. Two weeks after he arrived the world ended. He and several other members of his class had taken refuge in one of the two story buildings on base. They had stockpiled what ammo and food they could during those first hairy days.
The Chief Petty Officer in charge of their class had seen to the safety of the twelve men under his command well. Not a single man had been lost. They had managed to acquire a few dozen weapons, including three belt-fed machineguns. They had also raided the shopette and commissary. They had enough food to feed the dozen soldier, airmen
, and sailors for at least two more months. For the end of the world it wasn’t too bad, he had thought.
Salinas leaned into the ACOG sight mounted to the top of his M240B. “Chief! He yelled. “Chief, we got company.” He could hear the Chief’s boots as he mounted the stairs. Several others were moving too. Suddenly the shooting stopped.
“What have you got Salinas?” the old sailor asked.
“Don’t know, sir,” he answered. He wasn’t sure if the Navy addressed their senior NCO’s as sir or ma’am, but the Air Force did. Chief Romanov never corrected him. “There was rifle fire from the housing area, but it’s stopped.”
The Chief edged closer to the window. Across the street, he could see the base softball fields next to the pool. There were a line of trees just south of those two landmarks. He knew an east-west road ran between the fields and the trees. He couldn’t see anything.
“Hauser, Ripley; you two get on those other guns. I don’t know who’s coming, but let’s make sure we’re ready.” He pointed at two sailors wearing blue Navy Work Uniforms. Salinas heard boots crashing on the tile floor as the two sailors ran down the hall.
Suddenly an orange Jeep and a black pickup truck burst out of the wood line. They were followed by two other pickups. None of the vehicles appeared to be military.
Salinas glanced across the ball field at the body. There, beside a motor cycle, was the body of a man lying next to a civilian rifle with a scope. Four days ago, the man on the bike had gained access to the base. At that time the Chief had kept a rooftop patrol. The man with the rifle had taken a shot at the roof guard. Lucky for Ripley the man had missed. Before he had a chance to fire again, Specialist Riggs had walked a few rounds from the machinegun she was manning into the man’s face.
Salinas had a terrible thought. What if these guys were friends of the dead man? What if they were looking for revenge? Salinas swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his eyes. He turned to see that the Chief had left him. Damn!
He shoved his eye to the back of the ACOG sight again. He could see that only two of the men had military uniforms on. The other dozen or so were dressed in jeans, t-shirts and the like. This really didn’t look like a rescue party.
The Jeep stopped next to one of the softball fields. A tall man in an Army uniform climbed out as did a heavier man in a red shirt. The two in the back of the black truck and three from one of the other trucks jumped out. The seven men huddled as if they were calling a football play. Salinas’s heart raced. The man in the red shirt held his rifle up in the direction of the building. Salinas couldn’t take it anymore.
“…other side of this building is a motor pool. The equipment we need should…” Troy’s sentence was cut short by the sound of machinegun fire. Bullets zinged and whizzed through the little group. Those who weren’t hit in the initial barrage dove for cover.
Suddenly several other machineguns began to fire. SSgt Brown could see that Troy had been hit with the first volley. Blood began to spread across the front and right side of his shirt. He struggled momentarily for breath. His struggle ended quickly.
Two of the other men standing in the circle with him had also fallen. Both were on the ground writhing in pain and screaming for help. Their cries were weak and short lived. Both men died where they had fallen, pools of blood growing under their lifeless bodies.
A quick glance around and he realized he was in big trouble. He was between the black truck and his Jeep. The other trucks were behind and to his right, farther away from the shooting. Jackson was in the process of falling out of the Jeep. He held his rifle in his right hand and had his left in front of him. Good, SSgt Brown thought. At least he’s still ok.
Three men from the next truck were on the ground writhing and screaming. The driver’s window was shattered, blood splattered the glass. The forth truck was backing up as fast as the man driving it could make it go.
The machineguns continued to rake the cluster of men and machines. The bullets thudded into the ground, pinged off of metal, whizzed as they flew close to the survivor’s heads. No one was shooting back. He could see four of the Haven men and two of his own men. All of them were huddled behind a vehicle, immobile.
Suddenly the fire slackened some. SSgt Brown looked up. One of the guns was not firing. He must be reloading the NCO thought. “First window second floor!” he yelled. “Shoot! Get off your ass and shoot!” He jumped up and fired several shots into the window. He couldn’t see who was there, but he knew it held a machinegun. Jackson’s rifle began firing to SSgt Brown’s right. Good, he thought, at least he’s still in the fight.
Bullets began slamming into the black truck from one of the other machineguns. He and Jackson dove back to the ground. The civilians hadn’t moved the entire time. One was just screaming in fear. He knew he had to rescue the situation. “Hey,” he yelled to one of the Haven men as he crawled to him. “Hey,” again, this time he grabbed the man’s shirt and shook it. The man looked at the NCO wild eyed. He was panicked. SSgt Brown let his voice soften some. He wanted to sound strong but not anxious.
“What’s your name?” The man looked at him quizzically. “What is your name?” he repeated.
“J… Jo… John,” the man stuttered.
“Alright John,” the NCO began coolly. “We’re in a bit of a jam here aren’t we?” The man shook his head. “What do you say we get the hell outa here?” By now the two men sitting next to John were also paying attention to him. Bullets continued to slam into the truck.
“How about you guys crawl over behind that truck over there?” he pointed at the truck with the dead driver. “Private Jackson will go with you. When you get there, I need for you guys to shoot into the second window from the far end of the building on the second floor. You guys think you can do that?” The trio shook their heads.
He signaled Jackson to lead the men behind the truck. They began to crawl. As they did, SSgt Brown popped up near the front of the black truck and began firing on the third gun. He had seen the muzzle flashes from one of the windows in the middle of the building. His first burst caused the muzzle flashes to stop momentarily. Soon the second gun began to fire at him, forcing him under cover.
Within a few seconds, Jackson and the Haven men began firing on the second gun. SSgt Brown looked at the Island man next to him. The man just rocked back and forth and covered his ears. SSgt Brown tried to get his attention, going so far as kicking the man. It was to no avail. The man was done. It was too much to ask of him to stand up in the face of automatic weapons fire.
Now it was time to figure a way out of here. A smoke grenade or two might give them some cover. But, alas, he didn’t have a smoke grenade. He glanced around. What could he use? He looked at the Jeep. Both front tires were flat; a puddle of oil was collecting under the still running engine. Not for long, he thought. Then it hit him: the oil. He looked at the Jeep. Bullets smacked the grill.
The sound of a lighter snapping closed caught his attention. He was stunned at what he saw. The Island man had lit a cigarette and was puffing on it as fast as he could. He was about to slap the cigarette out of the man’s mouth when an idea hit. He rifled through the man’s pockets until he found the lighter. It was a silver Zippo with a skull and cross bones etched into the side. He opened it and struck the flint with the wheel. It lit on the first try. That was it.
He jerked the passenger door of the black truck open. Then he reached in and grabbed one of the cup holders. He let the oil from the Jeep fill the grey plastic container. Then he crawled under the truck and dumped the fluid under the driver’s side front tire, making sure to smear some on the tire itself. Then he lit the Zippo again and ignited the small puddle of oil.
Within a minute or so the tire was engulfed in flames, thick black smoke billowing from the front corner of the truck. For good measure, he repeated the process with the passenger side tire and the Jeep tire. He decided to wait a few more minutes, allowing for maximum obscuration before he would try to lead the survivors out.
Unfortunately for him, Ripley saw him long before he would reach the smoke that the others were by then taking refuge in. He began to pour 7.62 mm full metal jacket rounds towards the large red truck. Several rounds impacted the windshield near the driver’s seat. The truck suddenly veered to the left as the engine revved. It was obvious to all who saw it that the truck was under full power, and no control. Riggs gave Ripley a high five.
The celebration was cut short when they realized that the truck was going to slam into the building. Riggs ran down the stairs just as the red truck slammed into the corner of the building at an oblique angle. Instead of stopping when it hit the corner, the truck knocked a seven foot hole in the corner of the building and kept going. It didn’t stop for another fifty yards, and then only after it high centered itself on a wooden post driven into the ground long ago.
SSgt Brown was satisfied that the smoke was as thick as it was going to be. He also noticed that the incoming fire had almost stopped. “Come on!” he yelled to the others. Without another word, he jumped up and ran to the back of the dead man’s truck. The Island man jumped up and ran with him, his cigarette falling from his lips as he ran.
The group didn’t receive any fire from the building as they crossed the hundred yards of road to re-enter the tree line. What they found was disheartening to say the least. Of the twenty-four men that started the day, he could account for only fourteen. All four of his vehicles were out of action. A gunshot from a few feet away caused him to turn. Several zombies had been attracted to the sound of gunfire.
Time to move, he thought. He glanced back at the vehicles, two of which were engulfed in flames. Something off the road about 50 yards from the burning trucks caught his attention. He’d noticed the motorcycle before they had been ambushed. But, he hadn’t noticed the body.