Legacy of the Living

by Sean Liebling

  Terry had come to visit an old Army friend at his request. Newly retired a second time and sixty-two, he found himself at loose ends with no one to share that retirement with. Betty, his wife of twenty-two years, had passed away to cancer year before last. He missed her, especially now, in this hell. He had no friends here anymore, his buddy having succumbed to the vaccinations, although one of the lucky few that simply died instead of being zombified, and Terry really wasn't in the mood to acquire any new ones.

  After doing his twenty in the Guard, he had gone into contracting and did the next twenty-four as S-4, or supply and logistics as it was called, for the Air Base. He missed going to work and running large supply operations, which was much more fulfilling than clearing out homes within fire control zones in preparation to being demolished. He also missed his AR-15 with its EOTECH holographic sight. When he flew into Grand Rapids Regional Airport, it had never occurred to him to bring any of his sweet collection along. Who knew a week and a half ago that a zombie Armageddon would occur. Having passed the marksman test earlier, he was now waiting on the dinner bell to ring, and Jesus he was bored. Sure, he had a work detail after dinner, but following the shooting tests they had told him to relax until dinner.

  Sudden movement caught his eye as he looked out the window. The door of the shed in the corner of the lot behind the playing children was opening. Terry stared in horror as he saw the shambling figures of zombies moving outward at a fast walk from its opening, heading straight for the children. The children, he quickly noticed, were blissfully unaware, caught up in their game and not paying attention. He raised the window and screamed at the kids.

  "Watch out! Kids! Behind you! Look behind you!" Then he was crawling through the window, pushing the screen out as his heavy form rolled through. As he fell to the ground he instantly rose and started running. He was not thinking. He was acting. His normal planning self, forgotten. Screaming for the kids to run, he sprinted across the back yard while pulling on the heavy-duty leather work gloves he had tucked behind his belt. The fence was approaching and he hit it full force. He might be getting older but he was still hard, and he hit that son of a bitch with all his might, smashing through its one-by-six pine boards, bursting into the yard of the house behind his.

  The zombies already had the kids cornered. The children had finally woken to their danger and for some reason had run to the corner of the back yard, where a small doghouse resided. Huddled in that enclosed setting with them was a small Border Collie, their only protection as the four shambling figures attacked them. As Terry approached at a run, yelling with all his might, he saw the Border Collie jump up and fasten its teeth into the arm of the foremost zombie. Then Terry was among them, and there was no time for observation, only action.

  Lowering his shoulder, he hit the zombies low, hard, and fast. In the urgency of the situation, he'd forgotten the guns back in his room and there was no time to return for them. He smashed into the shamblers as his shoulder bisected the body of the first between the hip and ribcage, propelling it away from him as his two hundred and twenty pounds of solid mass acted like a battering ram on the desiccated body. His legs continued to churn, propelling him into the next. This one he hit in the chest. It was also knocked down as he continued forward, his legs pumping, hitting the next two together and taking the three of them down in a tangle. Rolling off them quickly he jumped to his feet facing forward, his back to the children.

  The kids were screaming, and immediately his senses sped up with the rush of adrenaline. He had only experienced this phenomenon a few times in his life while boxing. This was life and death, and these innocents needed him. His life no longer mattered as he felt their tiny hands holding onto the back of his shirt in terror. He was needed for the first time in years.

  He crouched, assuming a boxer’s stance, and throwing a right cross struck the first as it rose, throwing all his weight into the punch and feeling the bone crunch under his knuckles. He kicked outward with his right leg and foot, the heavy boot taking the next in line in the chest, knocking it back again. He howled in fury at the insanity of the situation as he threw himself into these undead creatures. They would not have these children while he breathed.

  He attacked with the strength of ten for it no longer mattered. Nothing mattered except saving these children. Savagely he grabbed the next, and twisting its head around jerked it backwards as he screamed his rage and hate, then felt the vertebra snap. The creature went limp and releasing it, he grabbed the next, pounding a fist into its face several times then throwing it with all his might against the fence next to them. He continued with the next two, grabbing them by the necks with both hands, squeezing tightly and bearing them to the ground.

  The screaming from the children was intensely loud, and looking over his shoulder he saw the one he'd thrown against the fence holding a child, lifting it.

  "Oh hell no!" Terry growled as he launched himself from a prone position to tackle it in a bear hug, the child falling away as they both slammed into the fence. "Fuck no, you Goddamn bastard!" he shouted as he smashed its head into the center fence post. Once, twice, three times and he felt the skull flatten under his hands. He felt an intense pain in his right shoulder and jabbed his elbow backwards lightning quick, feeling more bone crunch as he gasped from the bite. It was impossible to count how many times they had clawed and bitten him as he turned and jumped the two rising from the ground again, pushing them backward and away from the kids.

  By then other help had arrived and gunshots rang out; the situation finally hit him hard as he collapsed to his knees, streaming blood, and looked around. The place had flooded with the living. Two men grabbed him as he fell over, lowering him to the ground gently, and he looked over at the children being enveloped in hugs from their parents. He sighed with contentment. They were safe. Good enough then, he thought as he passed out.

  His vision swam when his eyes opened, and a smiling, tear-streaked female face was looking down at him. He felt someone working on his shoulder, and from the pain he guessed they must be putting in stitches. Christ, all he needed were more stitches. The woman, seeing he was awake, bent down close, her nose and lips almost, then slightly touching his.

  "I don't know who you are but you saved my children. I can never repay that. Thank you Sir, whoever you are."

  "My name is Terry Keller and I only did what anybody would do," he replied in a grunt.

  "Mine is Sandy, and what you did was not what just anyone would do."

  She leaned in closer and hugged him tightly. Vaguely he felt large firm breasts pushing into his chest and her lips against his cheek as he tried to hug her one-armed. Then she was leaning back up again but still smiling.

  "Let the medic finish with you. We'll talk in a bit, Terry." Then she leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips before jumping up and grabbing the two children who had been standing behind her. Terry let his head fall back in exhaustion, his eyes closed. He was getting too old for this hand-to-hand shit for sure. In the background, he heard sirens going off and wondered what in hell now? Then everyone around him gasped, and opening his eyes again he was just in time to see four bright arrows of flaming light shoot across the sky headed south.

  *****

  Top stepped back as he slapped Cara's shoulder, and then watched, as lying prone, she fired exactly five rounds at the target set up one hundred yards down range.

  Corporal Morales with the spotting scope called out, "Two, two, four, flyer and another four."

  "Cara, you need a little work. You'll join Jean in extra practice." Top grinned at her sudden furious expression. "Hey. Calm down, you’re doing fine. Just need a bit more is all." He saw her roll her eyes at him as she dusted herself off and stalked over to stand beside Jean. It was Ashley's turn. "Alright Ashley, lie down, take your time. Remember what we taught you." He saw her nod and steady the stock of the M4 against her shoulder. She was actually propped up a bit higher than most; her chest being so well developed raised her se
veral inches higher than the other girls. He signaled Morales, who raised the spotting scope to his eye once again, then Top slapped her shoulder and stepped back.

  Where the other girls took their time, and quite a bit of it between shots, Ashley fired hers about two seconds apart. Fast enough that Corporal Morales had to catch up.

  "Four, five, flyer, fly ... no, five and five. Four fives, Top. Take a look." He handed the spotting scope to Darin, who raised it to his eyes and dialed up the 20x magnification. Sure enough, he saw one just outside the black five-inch inner circle, then a ragged hole very near the center of the black.

  "Five more, Ashley," he commanded, and watched as the ragged hole simple became slightly bigger with every round she fired. Well hell, that cinched it. A natural shot also. "OK, you pass young lady. Safe your weapon and step back from the firing line."

  Ashley nodded at him and placing her M4 on safe, carried it at port arms to stand near the other girls. Darin shook his head and turned to Corporal Morales with a raised eyebrow. Morales shrugged and Darin nodded.

  Then the sirens went off and all hell broke loose. Dismissing the girls, Master Sergeant Trask ran to the south perimeter expecting an attack from zombies. What he didn't expect to see was dirt cascading down the sides of the Badger's missile box as it thrust out of the ground with a high-pitched whine and rotated slightly to the southeast with a smooth motion. Smoke began curling out of the top four tubes, and Top turned shouting while waving his arms.

  "Everyone get back. Get back, damn it. One hundred yards back!" he screamed the last while throwing himself flat as behind him the Badger initiated missile release and a solid wall of heat passed over his prone form as he desperately wrapped his arms around his head. The roar as the missiles left their tubes was a physical presence, slamming him hard into the earth. Holy shit almighty, what now? he thought.

  *****

  DAY 9: 1515 ET SATURDAY NOVEMBER 12TH

  Specialist Feravich sat in the darkened Badger command vehicle, reading a novel by the light of the tiny lamp fastened to the side of his radar station. He loved J.R.'s books and had every single one back at their barracks. With him were only the latest three and he was on the last. He would have to get with some of the others on a book swap very soon and was looking forward to what they had. His command sergeant, Sergeant Palmer, was on the other end of the cramped interior, about five feet away, working on a report under the light of another small lamp. Private First Class Scott was running last minute diagnostics on the Badger unit buried fifty meters to their south. Just routine circuit checks, and in fact he was returning now, having radioed in that everything checked at one hundred percent.

  They were on twelve-hour shifts, with Specialist Everett and Private First Class Knowles off duty and relaxing. Kirk Feravich loved the solitude of the command vehicle and they all got along well. A finely meshed unit, Corporal Rider had said yesterday when she watched them test the system, which they did every twelve hours at the beginning of every shift.

  The Badger's radar system, like the Badger itself, was a bastardized hybrid that was simply awesome. It combined a modified AN/SPY or Passive Phased Array antenna system with IF scatter to increase range along with an AESA, or active variant of similar design. Under normal circumstances, their range was limited to only one hundred miles but with pulse from the AESA they could boost that out to just over one hundred fifty miles. It was an awesome system for target acquisition, and because the emissions were spread over a wide band of frequencies, it was very hard to detect over background noise as long as they were in the ground as they now were. That was why Corporal Rider has been with them yesterday. She had tied her command systems into theirs after the relocation and burial of the deployed units. Kirk was so very glad the commander had finally taken the sergeant’s advice and deployed them properly. He hated being a target to possible hostile forces, and set in the ground they were really damn hard to detect. Right now, he had the radar pulsing in four directions every three minutes. A soft beep would sound every time it cycled, whereas a chime would sound if anything airborne were detected.

  As if he had conjured it up by merely thinking about it, the console in front of him chimed and his feet hit the floor from their relaxed position as he scanned both radar screens.

  "Detecting two possible signatures at maximum envelope, going to active pulse now Sergeant." Specialist Feravich hit a spot on his touch screen and immediately the console chimed again, this time louder, and his eyes widened as he took in the information at a glance.

  "Sergeant, I have four bogies inbound, repeat, four bogies inbound at one, three, four degrees and two hundred elevation. Speed is five hundred knots at one hundred twenty-six miles and closing."

  "IFF?" Sergeant Palmer was bending over his shoulder watching the radar. Protocol demanded that they first attempt ‘identification, friend or foe.’

  "Negative on IFF, Sergeant."

  "Patch into Command now!"

  "Patching. It's go!"

  "Command. Zeke speaking," a young man's voice came over the net, and Kirk frowned, wishing it were that sexy Corporal Rider instead. He really loved her voice.

  "Command, I have four boogies inbound at two hundred kilometers, closing at five hundred knots. Negative on IFF. Possible F-15s from profile signature."

  "Ahh, I'm supposed to ask ... hold on ... Alright, what is their ETA?"

  "Command, ETA to what? A flyby to wave at us, or missile range?" Specialist Feravich was getting irritated and a little scared by now. Where in hell was Corporal Rider?

  "Ahh, both I guess." Zeke sounded unsure and Kirk just about lost it. Behind him, he heard teeth grinding and the hatch slammed open as Private First Class Scott came bounding in.

  "Damnit. Where is Corporal Rider? Flyby ETA is thirteen minutes, missile deployment envelope is now!" Kirk was seriously losing patience.

  "Ahh. Hold on." Then the sweet soprano of Corporal Rider’s voice filled the air after a moment and Specialist Feravich breathed a sigh of relief. Behind him, he heard Sergeant Palmer doing the same.

  "Negative on IFF, negative on missile launch at this time, correct Badger Command?"

  "Correct Ma'am."

  "I am getting negative response for transponder identification. Broadcasting on all channels. Go active. Repeat. Go active, Badger Command, and light them up."

  "Going active, Command," Kirk replied, hitting several buttons on his console at once. In the distance they heard a high pitched whine, and if he had been standing outside he would have seen the top of the missile housing rise as dirt cascaded downward and its eight tubes pointed to their south and east. He activated four missiles but would not initiate release until told. Outside, smoke began to curl from the back ends of the top four tubes. He loved this job and he loved having a Command that had its shit together. He set the AESA on continuous sweep and high-pitched pulses swept through the compartment. He knew from his second radar screen he had painted all four targets. It was only with the touch of a couple buttons that he tasked the first two missiles to the lead aircraft homing in on their position. To his right, Private First Class Scott was doing the same with the second two. There! Signal lock. Per procedure, he activated the missile unit to their west, warming up the top four missiles in their silos. He knew that he and Scott could grab them and assign targets within seconds if too many missiles were headed their way. Current protocols assigned two missiles per target.

  "Command. We have active locks. Permission to initiate weapons release."

  "Stand by Badger Command."

  *****

  "Come in Command, we have a situation," the male voice came over the internal speaker and Zeke jumped. He grabbed the microphone after hitting the right button for the right frequency and spoke.

  "This is Command. Zeke speaking," he replied.

  What followed next he had been trained in, and after hitting the sirens he addressed all the questions Corporal Rider had drilled him in, even though he hesitated between a few of
them. He was irritated at himself for flubbing this first test of his training. He knew this stuff, but when it came down to a possible emergency, he was still making mistakes.

  Corporal Corey Rider jumped into the Command APC and immediately addressed Zeke.

  "What's the emergency?"

  "Badger command has four bogies. ETA about twelve minutes, and possibly F-15s by something called profile signature," Zeke said as Corey nodded.

  LSS quickly punched spots on her touch screen, tying their communications into the satellite array they had hacked. Everything that happened from now on would be transmitted live over satellite, so any units that had reception could receive it. The commander was adamant about that. They had nothing to hide from the good guys, and the bad guys needed to be aware that the fight had just begun.

  Corey checked for transponder transmissions and detected none. She immediately sent out an all call over all military radio frequencies, including satellite. No response, other than from the Guard unit that was inbound to their position. They had responded instantly to the satellite request. She told them to stand by as Newaygo had in-bound without IFF. They acknowledged and went silent. She keyed her microphone, raising Badger Command again, just as the commander strode into the CAPC. That understanding and professionalism on his part was another thing she loved about him. He did not ask stupid questions. He knew she was busy and waited until she had the time to bring him up to date. Then, everything went from busy to fire.

  *****

  "Sir. We have satellite transmission from Newaygo." Lieutenant Purcell had sprinted to his position near the west edge of the Tarmac. Major Robinson was currently checking on his men and the Stinger emplacements set up on this end of the field. All of the 47s were making another round trip for supplies from Fort Campbell. Yes, it had been overrun, but they could still land in the depot area that was heavily fenced. They were due back tomorrow and he was anxious for their return.