The Battle for San Francisco

by Dan McMartin

  Both men slouched over, elbows on knees and breathing hard. Neither seemed to want to talk. For Gunny’s part, he didn’t know what to say. He’d seen enough violence and death that he wasn’t completely shocked but the nature of the attack on his poolees was hard to swallow. What the hell had happened to Manley? How could a person do what he did?

  Gunny could accept it, however. He’d seen men die and though it never felt right to him, it was part of his existence. What bothered him more was his inability to help. He was helpless back there. The van had come to rest on the sliding door. The only ways out were the doors in the back and his door. But Manley was between the other young men and the rear doors, not to mention the bench seats they would have had to climb over and around.

  But Gunny was a Marine, damn it, yet he was powerless to save those young men. He didn’t have a gun. He had a pocket knife but that was useless. His feelings gave way to the bigger question, however. What the hell had come over Manley? What had become of those other people on the freeway? What the hell was going on?

  “I’m sorry,” Anders said suddenly.

  “For what?” Gunny asked, finally looking up from the ground.

  “For Manley. For what he did. If I wouldn’t have asked to join you...,” Anders explained, stopping short.

  “It’s not your fault,” Gunny said. “I don’t even know what happened,” he added.

  “I’ve never...and the others on the freeway. What the fuck, man?” Anders replied, obviously searching for meaning himself. Gunny just shook his head. There was an element of disbelief but he knew better. What had happened had happened. Just because it didn’t make sense or couldn’t be explained didn’t mean it wasn’t real.

  “I don’t know. My phone is in the van. You?” he asked. Anders pulled out his phone.

  “I’ve got a signal,” was all he said. Over the next few minutes, he called the recruiting center in Redding, the processing center in Sacramento, his wife and anyone else he could think of. There was no answer from any number he called. “Nothing. It’s ringing but no one is picking up,” he told Gunny.

  “You got internet?” he asked. Anders checked and after a minute showed him. Fox News’ headline mentioned an outbreak but nothing else.

  “Hold on. Let me see if I can stream something,” Anders said. A moment later, he had a live feed from the local news station. It was an empty studio, lights on, graphics flashing on the screen behind the set but no anchors. A message crawled across the bottom of the screen. “State of emergency declared. Shelter in place. Do not go outside. Authorities will...,” he read to Gunny.

  “Will what?” Gunny asked.

  “It stops there and starts over,” Anders told him.

  “This is fucked up,” was all Gunny said. Anders just shook his head.

  “We should find a farmhouse or something. Maybe someone knows what the hell is going on,” Anders told him.

  “We’ll freeze our asses off if we stay...,” Gunny began to say but stopped.

  “What?” Anders asked but Gunny shushed him.

  “Stay still and quiet,” he whispered. Anders followed Gunny’s gaze and saw it. One of those things, gray with clouded eyes just yards away, shambling past oblivious to their presence. They watched it pass slowly, stumble once on a length of tangled barbed wire left on the ground, and then continue on and out of sight.

  It looked dead, like a dead person might look save for the cloudy eyes. The thing seemed mindless as well, nothing like Manley. Manley seemed bent on attacking and...eating the other young men. This creature simply wandered off towards nowhere in particular. Soon, it disappeared into a copse of live oak and was gone.

  “What the fuck?” Anders exclaimed.

  “It’s a fucking zombie,” Gunny told him. Anders slowly turned to regard his friend. “What would you call it?” Gunny asked upon seeing Anders’ dubious expression. The sailor didn’t have an answer.

  “I guess I’d call it a zombie,” Anders admitted.

  “We need to get indoors. It’s cold as fuck out here and we’re soaked. Plus, I’d rather not have one of those things find us out here exposed,” Gunny said. Anders nodded in agreement. The two men got up and scanned the horizon. There wasn’t much. Fields gave way to low hills to the west beyond small clusters of trees and the odd shed or irrigation pump. There didn’t seem to be much out there and the rain made it hard to see any details.

  “There, in those trees,” Anders announced after a while. Gunny joined him and saw it too. A hard edge amongst the softer trees that were starting to leaf out. It was a roofline.

  “Let’s find out,” Gunny said. Anders nodded and the two pulled their hoods over their heads and set out towards what Gunny hoped was safety.

  Chapter 8

  “Hello. Anyone home?” Anders called out as Gunny knocked on the door. “Nothing,” he said, pointing out the obvious. Gunny didn’t want to move on but he didn’t want to break in either. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Anders tried the door and it was unlocked.

  “Be careful. Could be some old farmer hiding in here with his trusty shotgun,” Gunny said.

  “Duly noted,” Anders replied. But the house seemed empty as they explored. Gunny caught the scent of something as they walked down the hall. Something familiar. Blood but mixed with a subtle odor of rotting flesh. In the master bedroom, they found the source.

  “Jesus!” Anders exclaimed. An old man lay on his back and what they assumed was his wife lay atop him. She was grayish but her head was mostly gone, much of it splattered on the carpet and bed beyond. Gunny knew her eyes would have been clouded as well, like the others they saw. The old man still grasped the pistol he had used to first shoot his wife, or whatever she had become, and then himself. His wound was cleaner and his eyes stared at the ceiling, wide with terror.

  Anders backed away and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. He wasn’t a Marine. He had fought in the wars but from an aircraft carrier parked on the Indian Ocean, loading ordinance onto aircraft. Gunny, on the other hand had seen a lot of death. He entered the room, pried the gun from the old man’s hand and then stepped over the bodies as if they weren’t there. He searched the walk in closet but came out with nothing of value.

  “He must have kept his guns somewhere else. Grab some sofa while I go look,” Gunny told his woozy friend as he closed the door to the master bedroom behind him.

  “No, I’m cool,” Anders said. He had more than a few regrets. He joined the Navy at the urging of his mother but he wanted to be a soldier, or even a Marine. He had told Gunny more than once since they became friends and fellow recruiters that he felt guilty for heeding his mother’s advice. Gunny assured him each time that Anders should thank his mother for insisting.

  “Alright. Check the spare bedrooms. I’ll look around the garage. Yell if you need me,” Gunny told him.

  “You too,” Anders said and Gunny just rolled his eyes. Anders laughed as they split up. In the garage, Gunny found a cabinet with several handguns, a deer rifle and two shotguns. Plenty of ammo too. He figured that out in the country people didn’t lock their doors or lock up their guns. There was more too. Some knives, along with some old camping gear and backpacks. It hadn’t been used in years if the dust and cobwebs were any indication.

  Back in the house, Anders was hunched over the coffee table with a laptop computer. Gunny set his armload of stuff down and gestured for Anders to help him bring in the rest. “Anything on the laptop of interest?” he asked as they dropped the last load in the middle of the living room.

  “No, but I thought it might come in handy. Fortunately, it’s not locked. Looks like they used it mainly to play solitaire and look at email,” Anders explained.

  “Turn on the television,” Gunny suggested. Anders grabbed the remote off the coffee table and pointed it at the old tube television. It flickered to life and there was the Commander and Chief, President McClane, giving a speech.

  “...the Joint Chiefs. Due to the extraordinary
circumstance our nation faces, I have declared a state of emergency and martial law. The government is trying to get control of the situation. Please stay indoors with the doors and windows locked for your own protection. Emergency or law enforcement personnel will advise you when it is safe to leave your home. May God bless you and the United States of America,” President McClane announced. The message started all over again, a recording.

  Anders flicked around the channels. Most were playing the same message. Those that weren’t showed static, regularly schedule programming or quiet sets as if everyone had vanished in the middle of the show.

  “Okay, I’m officially freaked out,” Gunny said.

  “I’m with you. This is some serious shit,” Anders agreed.

  “I bet they got a pantry full of food,” Gunny told Anders, changing the subject abruptly.

  “How can you be hungry?” Anders replied.

  “I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach,” he said. Anders grinned at his friend.

  “I like the way you think,” Anders said and headed for the kitchen. Gunny followed and they discovered he was right. The pantry was stocked with food but more importantly, so was the cabinet above the stove. It was full of liquor. Gunny met Anders in the middle of the kitchen with three boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Anders held a bottle of Crown Royal.

  “Please let there be some Coke in the fridge,” Gunny said. There wasn’t. Just Pepsi. “Close enough,” he said as he pulled out two cans. But Anders wasn’t content. He set the bottle of whiskey on the kitchen table and disappeared. A moment later, he came back with two cigars.

  “The old man had taste,” Anders said as he handed one to Gunny, who was looking for a pot to cook the macaroni and cheese in.

  “Poor bastard. Find some butter and grab the milk,” Gunny said as he set the cigar aside and pulled out a pot. Fifteen minutes later, the two men sat down to heaping bowls of steaming orange elbow pasta. Gunny was hungrier than he realized. It was nearly seven o’clock in the evening. He should have been in a shitty hotel room eating fast food right then if everything had gone as planned. It hadn’t.

  Suddenly, Anders’ phone rang. He picked it up quickly, expectantly. Anders hadn’t mentioned it and had tried to hide it, in fact, but he was worried about his family. “Hello?” he answered without even bothering to look at the number. A moment later, he put it on speaker.

  “...wanted to see if you were alright, get a status update on the processing center. I can’t raise them,” Master Chief Petty Officer Espinoza said. He was the head of the Navy recruiting office.

  “Uh...Gunny Rodriguez and I are fine. The recruits...,” Anders began to say.

  “Understood. It’s just me and Helmsworth from the Air Force unit,” Espinoza replied.

  “This is Rodriguez. What do you know?” Gunny asked, all business.

  “Not much. I can’t raise the processing center. I’ve called some other stations. No answer. You’ve seen the President’s message?” he asked.

  “Yeah, we have. We made it to an abandoned house,” Anders said. “Any word from...anybody check on families?” Anders asked.

  “Let me call Helmsworth. He’s making the rounds,” Espinoza told the two and hung up.

  “I’m sure they’re fine,” Gunny offered. Anders was a family man. It was easier stationed on a ship instead of some shitty forward operating base in Afghanistan. It was easier on his wife for a lot of reasons. Anders simply nodded.

  “I wish I didn’t have the feeling that you’re wrong,” he replied. Minutes passed as they waited for Espinoza to call back. Redding wasn’t a big town but it was spread out like many western cities. Gunny cleared the bowls and soaked them in the sink before he poured a couple of stiff Crown and Pepsis. He joined Anders at the kitchen table to wait. A moment later, the phone rang.

  “What’s the word?” Anders answered, seeing it was Espinoza. He didn’t put the call on speaker this time. Gunny could tell that the news wasn’t good. Anders just nodded as he listened. “Thanks, I’ll be in touch,” he said and hung up. Anders took a swig of his drink as he stared straight ahead.

  “I’m sorry, man,” Gunny told him.

  “I knew it. I felt it,” was all he said, tears in his eyes. Then he set his drink aside, put his face in his hands and Anders began to cry. Gunny was a hard man but even he wanted to join in. Anders’ tragedy brought it all into focus. The world was gone. This was the new normal. It was like the day he stepped off the plane in Kandahar the first time. Gunny knew that day, as he did right then, that things were never going to be the same.

  “Your daughter?” Gunny ventured as he reached over and squeezed Anders’ shoulder. His friend just shook his head. Gunny didn’t press for details and judging by the length of the phone call, Espinoza didn’t offer any. Anders raised his head and wiped away his tears before taking another drink.

  “Helmsworth found them...dead...at my house,” Anders explained.

  “I’m so sorry,” Gunny offered and squeezed Anders’ shoulder. Anders ran his hand through his short hair and then sat back in his chair.

  “Thanks. We need to do something,” Anders said.

  “Like what?” Gunny asked.

  “I don’t know. Make this right,” Anders told him. Gunny knew what he meant. He wasn’t used to feeling helpless. He didn’t like it. He also remembered what it was like to fight for more than honor and country. He remembered what it was like to fight for the woman he loved, even if she grew to hate him because of it.

  “We can take a car, go back to Redding and try to secure things there,” Gunny offered.

  “No, that’s not my home. I was assigned there, like you. There’s nothing for me there now. We need to go where we can do some good. I want to fight. I want to take it all back from those...those fucking freaks,” Anders said.

  “Where?” Gunny asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Anders replied. Gunny knew his friend needed something to focus on besides his loss. He needed to feel like he could make a difference, maybe even avenge his wife and daughter. Gunny had no idea how to accomplish that, however.

  “Tell you what. Let’s finish that bottle of Crown and figure it out in the morning,” Gunny offered. Anders smiled a wistful smile and finished the rest of his drink.

  “If you’re buying, I’m drinking,” he said. Gunny knew he was masking his feelings. Anders loved his wife and his daughter more than anything but it was just another blow in a series of hammering blows that day. The van full of young men killed before their eyes, the carnage on the freeway, the President’s message, each was overwhelming by itself. Together, they were...unbelievable.

  Anders drank until he passed out. Gunny was still drinking, trying to find the same level of inebriation but he was a far more seasoned drinker than his friend. When the bottle was empty, he gave up and dragged Anders to the sofa to sleep it off. Afterward, Gunny locked the doors and loaded a shotgun. He curled up next to the shotgun on the floor under a blanket. He could sleep pretty much anywhere and under any circumstances. He was a Marine, after all.

  That night, however, he didn’t fall asleep until well past midnight.

  ~~~

  Gunny awoke and closed his eyes again to shield them from the bright morning light. He sat up and opened his eyes again, more slowly this time. He found Anders sitting on the sofa staring at the coffee table. On the table sat a 1911 that had belonged to the old man. “What are you doing?” Gunny asked. Anders hesitated, as if he was only vaguely aware that Gunny had said anything.

  “Thinking,” Anders replied.

  “About?” Gunny pressed, worried for his friend.

  “I don’t know,” Anders said. Gunny reached over and slid the handgun off the table. Anders didn’t move.

  “That’s not the answer,” Gunny told him.

  “Are you sure? The world is dead. My wife and daughter are dead. What’s the fucking point?” Anders asked.

  “You’re not dead, Anders. You’re alive and you need to
stay that way. Nina would want her husband to fight. Cindy would want her daddy to survive,” Gunny said. Anders finally looked up and began to cry. This time, Gunny didn’t hold back. He joined Anders on the sofa and pulled his friend to him, holding him. “It’ll be okay, buddy. It’ll be okay,” Gunny said. Soon, both men were crying openly, the past twenty-four hours getting the best of them.

  It didn’t last long but it felt good to let it out. Gunny never cried once in Afghanistan though there were times he wanted to. But this made his tours over there look like a walk in the park. He was still having trouble completely wrapping his head around the fact that the world he knew was no more. Even the most pragmatic person would have a hard time with that one.