by Nathan Brown
“Mike! Four o’clock!” Walt called out from the backseat.
Almost without thinking, Mike reacted, bringing around the shotgun barrel to his rear right. He zeroed in on a mullet-sporting zombie in a blood-spattered “wife-beater” tank top and a pair of faded cut-offs. The shotgun spit fire and a solid lead slug collided with the zombie’s upper torso. Limbs, blood, flesh, and bone fragments exploded in all directions.
“Joe! Get us closer to that big rig, but take it slow and be ready to haul ass out of here if I tell you to. These guys might not be friendly, no matter how fucked up of a situation they’ve gotten themselves into.”
“Got it!” Joe replied, letting off the brake just enough to allow the SUV to crawl forward.
“Walt! Switch me out! I need the Winchester and a nine-mil!”
Walter took back the shotgun and handed Mike the pistol then the rifle. Mike tucked the pistol into his waistband and brought the rifle to the ready. He knew they couldn’t stay near the rig for long, or they ran the risk of getting surrounded themselves.
“What am I doing, Mike?” Joe called out, a tone of frustration in his voice.
“Get me over to the hood. Close enough so that I can climb over onto it. But take it slow,” Mike replied. “Walt! Once my feet leave the hatch, you take my place up here with the shotgun! But watch your fire! Once I’m over, Joe, you back away fast.”
“Then what?”
“Then you just keep this fuckin’ vehicle moving! Don’t stop unless I tell you. Drive donuts or figure-eights if you like … but don’t you dare stop!”
“Damn it, Mike.”
“Just do it!”
* * *
Joseph eased the right side of his vehicle alongside the big rig’s hood, little-by-little.
“Almost,” he heard Mike saying. “Just a little more … right there!”
Mike scrambled out of the sunroof and leapt across to the truck’s hood, almost losing his footing in the landing. Joseph then heard the former Marine urgently ordering, “Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go!”
“Walt! Talk to me,” Joseph called up to Walter, who was now taking Mike’s place in the sunroof. “What’s he doing?
“He’s on top of the cockpit.”
“Cockpit?”
“The roof of the truck, whatever it’s called. A couple of ‘em are reaching for him, but he’s already out of grasp. Okay, he’s climbing onto the trailer. A couple of those kids in the BDUs are coming over to help him get up top. Okay, they’ve got him up. He’s clear!”
“Godammit, Mike,” Joe sighed under his breath, then to Walter. “Wait … did you just say kids?”
“Yeah,” Walt answered, “I got an eyeful of one peeking out over the side when we pulled up to them. He couldn’t have been any older than sixteen. Those are a bunch of kids up there, or at least one of ‘em is.”
* * *
Mike got his feet, expecting to find himself face-to-face with a group of young men, maybe even reserve soldiers or National Guardsmen. What he saw, however, was a gaggle of teenagers in BDUs, armed with old school M1 service rifles, which were little better than antiques.
“What the hell?” was all Mike could manage to blurt out.
“Sir?”
“Don’t call me that, Corporal,” Mike snapped back, noticing the rank insignia on the boy’s collar. “You boys sure as hell ain’t with the reserves or the National Guard, but you got Army ranks on shoulders. What’s that about?”
The young man in front popped sharply to attention, paying attention to proper etiquette as if he was unsure whether or not Mike was with the military.
“Cadet Corporal Potter, James T. New Mexico Military Institute.”
“At ease, boy,” Mike replied, waving off the formality. “What are you all doing here?”
“We were sent on a search and retrieval mission for Colonel McCoy. This is his store. He’d radioed in his situation and called for extract. He said he’d have a truck loaded and ready to transport supplies back to the campus. We were the only spare bodies that could be mustered. But he was already infected by the time we arrived. We finished loading up the truck with supplies, but the shot the Colonel used on himself must’ve given away our position because when we came out those things were all over the place. We managed to get up here, all but Clemmons. A couple got hold of him. They dragged him down and …”
The composure of this young boy in a man’s uniform began to crack.
“It’s okay, Corporal. I don’t need the details. Is this the rest of your detachment, all of you up here?”
“All but Hernandez,” Corporal Potter replied. “He’s our radioman. I figure he should be in the trailer by now, if he followed the last orders I gave him. He also radioed for a reinforcement contingent over an hour ago, but I’m starting to wonder if they’re still coming.”
“You’re in radio contact with someone?”
“Yes. The duty desk in the Box knows our situation.”
“Box?”
“Our barracks, sir. Or maybe you’d call it a dormitory.”
“So you guys are military school cadets, then?”
“Yes, sir. Army JROTC.”
“JROTC? Where is the actual Army? Even the regular ROTC?”
“We honestly don’t know, sir. They took away most of the college ROTC cadets early yesterday afternoon. We haven’t seen any other soldiers since they came, not counting cadets.”
“Who are ‘they’?”
“National Guard, sir.”
Mike’s inquiry was suddenly cut short by a number of long, angry horn honks. He’d forgotten about Joseph, who was now navigating donuts in the middle of the street.
“Okay. Where are the keys to this vehicle?”
“Umm … Clemmons was our driver, sir. He has the keys.”
“And what about these reinforcements you called for? What are they supposed to be sending?”
“A Jeep with one gunner, from what I was told.”
“And how, exactly, is a Jeep going to get the seven of you out of here when you don’t even have the keys to this damn truck? Last I heard, Army jeeps don’t seat ten. I mean, when you say ‘Jeep,’ you don’t mean a Hummer, right?”
“Um … no, sir … uh, we … I mean … I just called … and …”
“Stop! That’s enough, already. Just shut the fuck up and listen. Please tell me that your boy Clemmons wasn’t the only one who knew how to drive this thing! Please!”
“PFC Jimenez? You’re trailer qualified on the Hum-V, right?”
“Yes, Corporal,” answered a young, wiry, Hispanic cadet. Mike would not have guessed he was older than fourteen or fifteen.
“Well, that’ll have to do,” Mike said. “I don’t drive big rigs. Had to pull a friend outta one once with a bullet in his gut and I took a bullet in my … well, it’s a long story. But I can hotwire the ignition and at least get this heap started. If I can start it, can you drive it?”
“I think so, sir,” Jimenez replied with a tone that didn’t exactly instill Mike with a lot of confidence.
“Just remember to turn wide,” Mike told him with a nervous chuckle, slapping the terrified looking cadet firmly on the shoulder.
What in the fuck have I walked into? The Army’s version of Lord of the Flies?
“Are the doors locked?”
“Not sure, sir … I think so,” answered Corporal Potter
“Of course they are! Okay, cadets, listen up. Here’s what we’re gonna do.”
HONK! HONK! HOOOOONK!
Mike stood and circled his finger in the air, telling Joe (who was getting increasingly angry with each passing minute) to keep on driving around in circles for the time being.
“First, I’m gonna climb down onto the hood and bust out the window and slide myself in. I need you boys to provide cover fire for me while I’m exposed. How are you doing on ammo?”
“We’re low … but not dry. We should be able to cover you long enough. Those things are pretty
slow, thank God.”
“Don’t think God’s taking calls today, kid. Take this, just in case you guys run out of rounds for those old M1s you’re using,” Mike said, handing the Winchester to Corporal Potter. “But you use your own rounds first, then fall back on the Winchester if you have to. And I want that back, you hear me? You have to cock that lever every time you fire in order to chamber a new round, okay? Now, once I get this thing started I’ll climb back up and then we’ll all cover Jimenez until he’s inside. Once he’s in, I’ll signal my friend over there to come by and pick me up.”
“Great … what about the rest of us, sir?”
“Lay down as flat as you can and hang the fuck on. It’s gonna be a bumpy ride, but it’s better than walking back with those things all over you, isn’t it? If you see a chance, get your asses into the trailer. But only do it if you see a good opportunity. If you fall off, we might not be able to turn around and come back for you. You get me?”
“I got you, sir,” answered Corporal Potter.
“You boys ready?”
“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.
“Stop! My name is Mike, not ‘sir.’ I’ve never been a sir, and I’m not looking to start now. So just drop the ‘sir’ shit, okay?”
“Yes, suh—. I mean … got it.”
Mike stood and motioned for Joseph to being the vehicle closer. As they passed, he yelled out to Walter.
“I’m gonna have to hotwire this thing! Once I do, I’ll need Joe to bring it close one more time so I can get back in. I’ll signal you over when I’m ready, so pay attention. Okay?”
“Got it!” Walter replied, giving Mike a thumbs-up. By this point, a slow-moving group of zombies had begun following the Blazer in circles. Mike briefly wondered if the undead ever got dizzy.
Mike was able to bust out the window, get in, start the engine, and get out in less than five minutes. The cadets did a decent job of keeping the walking corpses clear for him. It appeared that most of the zombies were more interested in the Blazer, anyway, perhaps because it was moving. Mike wasn’t sure why they were doing it, but he was grateful that they were.
He’d had to talk Jimenez into the driver’s seat, handling the nervous cadet with verbal kid gloves. He was just a kid, after all, and scared out of his mind. Mike remembered what that felt like, though such days now seemed ages in his past.
“Okay! Bring it over!” He yelled, waving to the Blazer, which was by now the leader of an odd parade of circling corpses.
Joe began to navigate the vehicle alongside the front end of the rig. Mike got onto the hood and prepared to make his return jump. It was then, when it seemed they were about to make it out free and clear, that an olive drab Army Jeep came screeching around the corner like a bat out of hell. Hot metal flew in random directions from the Jeep’s machine gun. The cadet behind the wheel screamed like a madman as his gunner let out a banshee’s wail. They nearly flattened a lamppost, and the driver overcompensated to miss it. He now careened directly towards the paired up big rig and Blazer.
Joseph reacted just in time, throwing the vehicle in reverse and pulling clear at the last second. Mike, unfortunately, had yet to jump across. He could do nothing but stand there, crouched on the hood of the rig, unable to do anything as the Jeep smashed into it.
Mike’s world turned into a spinning kaleidoscope as the force of the blow catapulted him into the air. He hit the tarmac hard, and his shoulder blades came crashing down first. The wind blew from his lungs and refused to return. He rolled onto his stomach, head spinning, and shoved his palms down. He tried to push up, tried to get to his feet, but his body would not obey him. All he could manage was to get his knees under him before his vision began to blur, immersed in a sea of greenish-black. Then his world went silent, if only for a moment.
Like an approaching freight train, sound returned to Mike’s awareness, though his coordination did not. He forced open his aching eyes just long enough to see a bloody, torn face lingering over him. He reached for his waist, where he’d tucked the nine-mil.
Not gonna end up like that … gotta put one in the brainpan.
But his hand found nothing. The pistol must’ve come loose when he’d been flung by the crash.
No … not like this.
Screeching tires.
A loud thud followed by gunfire.
Grasping fingers.
Not like this …
Dead Come Home
EPILOGUE
A Few Dead Men
Marine Corps Private Erik P. Jamison was reading a well-worn copy of Ender’s Game when Gunny Thorn stepped into the room.
His mates and squad leader were lounging near a big screen TV, watching Talladega Nights. They heard the door open, but none of them turned to see who was coming in.
Erik looked over the top of his book. Something in the Gunny’s eyes tied a knot in his gut. The practically invincible Gunny Thorn, who Erik would willingly follow through all thirteen levels of hell, was … worried. Erik, in four years, had never seen that look in his Gunny’s eyes before.
“Marines, you always joked that you’d follow me straight into hell if you had to; today, you’ve been ordered to do just that,” Gunny Thorn said in an eerily even voice. “Turn on the news.”
None of the marines jumped to attention, but they sat up straighter, and someone changed the channel. Erik closed his book and stepped closer to the TV.
What seemed to start as minor riots in more than a dozen US cities quickly exceeded local and even combined law enforcement agencies’ ability to contain. In the last six hours, this station has received the following information:
Anyone who has been bitten is to be isolated and avoided.
People are urged to avoid any direct contact with the blood of anyone who has been bitten.
People are also urged to try to reach National Guard evacuation stations. Do not try to go on foot. Find a heavy, hard-to-roll vehicle and head for the nearest evacuation station. The National Guard is taking people from those stations to Army and Marine evacuation sites.
“Alright, turn that mess off and listen up,” Gunny Thorn said in his best this-information-will-save-your-ass voice. “Here is what we know for certain.
“Dallas, Las Vegas, Reno, Los Angeles, New York, Seattle, Houston, Miami and dozens more cities all have the same problem—homicidal rioters. Not only are the rioters psychotic, they have been observed trying to bite people and, in some cases, have been seen quite literally eating people alive.
“These freaks have continued to advance while missing arms, with knee caps shot out, and with half their chests blown away. The only way to put them down is to aim for the head, or blow them into pieces.
“We’ll be deploying in two hours to cover an evacuation site just south of Florida City on the 905. We will cover the arrival and departure of refugees from Miami and the surrounding areas. Any questions so far?”
Two or three hands went up around the room. Gunny Thorn nodded at one closest to him.
“Gunny, are you serious about them keepin’ comin’ with those kinds of injuries?
“I’ve seen the footage myself.”
Murmurs spread around the room. Gunny let them die out before he nodded to a private in the back of the crowd.
“Are we actually gonna be shooting at our own people?”
“Son, from what I’ve seen, these fuckers don’t count as people. And if it comes down to you or them, it better be them that’s layin’ in the street. Our primary mission is the extraction of people that are trying to get to safety. With a small amount of luck, you won’t have to fire a single round.”
No one else raised a hand.
“Demo team will wire both bridges to Key Largo so we can blow ‘em to cover our retreat if need be. There is only one rule: if it attacks you or is missing a body part, you blow its head off.
“Ammo will be issued en route. Gear up and assemble at the loading docks in two hours.”
* * *
Four hummers created a funnel on both the north and southbound lanes. A dozen five-tons lined up nose to tail on the bridge facing south, ready to run at a second’s notice. Erik occasionally looked over his shoulder and saw corpsman separating out potentially infected people from everyone else.
The refugees streamed in for hours. Young, old, some injured, some not. A few drove cars right to the edge of the barricade and abandoned them off to the sides of the road. Erik was almost happy to see the extra cars; they would provide some extra funneling.
Erik heard the pitch of two of the five-tons drop as the drivers put them into gear.
Two down and ten to go, Erik thought as he turned his head back toward the killing corridor.
A family of three was running toward the barricade. Erik tightened his grip and prepared himself to fire. He could just make out two more figures charging toward the family and gaining.
The man must have sensed that the pursuers were gaining, because he turned to fight with them. Before the marines could do anything about it, the two were upon him. They didn’t stop to try to rob him; they didn’t stop to fight; they slammed into the man and latched on as they fell.
Erik couldn’t see any detail, but he could tell that the attackers were biting the man’s arm and neck.
“Oh sweet jeezus! They’re fuckin’ eating him,” said a marine looking through his binoculars. “I think I’m gonna be sick. Somebody put them down.”
Erik watched Lance Corporal Diez step to the median and throw up. He heard the sharp report of a rifle. He looked up in time to watch the second attacker’s head become a pink cloud as the report of a second sniper shot reached his ears. A third report followed close behind.