The Romero Strain (Book 1): The Romero Strain

by Alan, TS

I felt uneasy as we made our way up the incline, stepping on and over the shot down and burnt corpses that blocked the way to the large wooden doors that loomed on the other side of the shadowy vestibule. The wrought iron gate that once stood across the entrance to the antechamber had been ripped from its hinges. The ramp had been pushed partly onto the sidewalk. Before we made it to the archway, I noticed the heavy scoring of mostly vertical lines running down the exterior of the doors; they were fingernail marks. However, they didn’t look natural. The scratches were thin and deep, more like the talons of a transmute and not those that a zombie could have produced. The doors were ajar, so perhaps the UDs had breached the interior, and that was why the armory had a feel of abandonment and doom hanging over it.

  I wasn’t sure about attempting to open the door. A sense of dread came over me. What lay beyond the door, UDs, transmutes, or just more poor souls that had succumbed to a painful prolonged death? I wish I had brought Max, but the women felt safer with him, even though Kermit had stayed behind. Next time I would have Max by my side.

  I was the idiot that would have to pull back the doors, for it was my intention to find our next place of sanctuary. The underground base, as safe as it was from the outside world, was impractical. Eventually our food would run out and our fuel supply would be expended. Without the necessary means to generate electricity, the pumps that removed the ground and rainwater that constantly seeped in from the bedrock would eventually fail. The facility was also a dismal place and a constant reminder of where the end of the world began. The lack of natural light was depressing and was a great cause of our group’s low morale. Exposure to the dangers of the outside world was a risk, but it was nearing the point of which there was no alternative left.

  I was feet from the doorway. “Okay, boys, cover my ass.” I pulled back the right door and quickly stepped back. The heavy door swung slowly open. There was nothing but dead bodies and the putrid smell of rotting flesh.

  I had never been inside the armory and had only once walked by when the door had been opened. I didn’t remember a secondary set of stairs, a second landing, and another pair of heavy oak doors beyond the first barrier.

  There was another ramp. It had been pushed out of the way and lay in a diagonal position across the fourteen steps, which lead up to the massive arched entry. As we cautiously approached the second set of doors, we saw a modern steel door that was painted black to our left. On the wall to the right were a telephone box and a key card swipe pad. A camera was above the doorway.

  We were near the top of the staircase when David let out a blood-curdling scream of shock. A rotting hand grabbed his ankle. The undead creature was pulling itself out from under another body to get to David.

  David quickly smashed the zombie’s skull in with his boot.

  “Fuck!” he said, exclaiming his shock and anger. “God damn. I almost shit a Pinto.”

  “Hey,” I asked, “you all right?”

  “Yeah. Shit. Nearly lost control of the pucker valve.”

  As we made it to the landing, I looked up at the security camera. It would be inoperative if they had no power. Then I realized, the odds of anyone living being behind the doors were slim. The generator was down. If any troops were still alive, surely they would have come out to refuel and restart it, since the living dead were no longer a threat. Perhaps even repair the damaged fencing to keep undesirables out or posted sentries on the roof, who would have noticed our approach? I was confident there was no one left alive.

  I attempted to turn the knob but it did not rotate. I tugged on it anyway; it was locked.

  We looked at each other, and then David pounded on the door. I turned to my comrades and said, “I don’t think anyone’s alive. If they were, by now they would have undoubtedly responded to our trespassing.”

  “You’d think someone would have survived.” David commented.

  “Undead is more like it.”

  “Or worse,” Joe grimly added, “Transmutes!”

  “Joe, I think if any turned into transmutes they’d have figured out how to get out. They’re not like the brain-dead UDs.”

  “How are we going to get in? We can blow it open!” Joe enthusiastically volunteered.

  “Hold on there, Slick Sleeve. If you blow it up, I may not be able to fix it so it can’t be breached again,” Sam announced. “The hinges are in the inside so we can’t burn them off, but maybe we could punch a hole in the center, run a steel bar through it and pull it off with the Stryker.”

  “Excuse you Private Schmuckatelli, but you want to rip the doors off! Explain to me how that is better than—”

  “Hey, hey, Professor Chaos and General Disarray, we’re not going to destroy anything unless I know we can repair it,” I told them. “Tomorrow we’ll bring an acetylene torch and have a go at the metal door.”

  I looked out to the late afternoon sky. The sun was starting its descent. The day seemed to have slipped away and there were still things that needed to be done. “It’s late and this armory isn’t going anywhere. Check the tanker and see if there is any fuel in it. If it does, pull the vehicles up and fill ’em. We should also salvage anything useful lying around. Sam. You and Joe on the tanker. David and I’ll do a perimeter sweep. And don’t forget, there’s UDs still out here. Okay?”

  Everyone nodded in acknowledgement, and then was off.

  As we made our way down 25th Street toward Park Avenue, David and I watched as the Stryker moved into the compound. Seeing the vehicle roll over the bodies was as majestic as a Panzer VI Tiger tank rolling over an African sand dune. Sam had been right. We truly needed the Stryker.

  There wasn’t much along the cross street to see or scavenge, just more dead bodies, both soldiers and civilian undead. As we approached the end of the building, my eyes caught the exit door to the southwest corner, which was ajar. It was barely away from its doorframe, but it was open. A sinking feeling came to my stomach. I held out my arm and as I did David ran into it. I pointed to the entry. There were two flights of steps leading to the exit door. The first set was facing the opposite way from which we had come. At the top was a landing. The next set of stairs went the opposite direction, up to another landing, which lead to a doorway. I listened as we approached the top of the stairway. I couldn’t hear anything from within. I paused for a moment, and then reached for the handle. I grasped it and paused again. I released it. I motioned David to retreat.

  At the front of the building, David asked, “What was all that about? It was open.” He was confused by my change of mind.

  “Yeah, it was open. Nevertheless, even with my Nightcrawler abilities, there are only two of us and it’s getting late. At least we know we can get in.”

  Joe and Sam were standing at the side of the tanker. Sam was placing the hoses into the truck, but Joe, who appeared to be standing watch, was not paying attention to their surroundings.

  “Hey,” I yelled at them.

  Joe and Sam looked up and were stunned at the sight of a UD. It was standing in the middle of the compound. When it had heard my voice, it turned and lumbered toward David and I, tripping and falling onto a body. It struggled to stand after crawling over the corpse it had tripped over.

  It was slow and looked like it was lost and confused. Its head cocked back and forth, like it was struggling to hear some faint whisper.

  I clapped my hands together. It turned and moved toward us again, but then stopped. David and I walked quietly toward it. I could see Sam and Joe approaching. I held out my hand to indicate for them to halt. We were eight feet away. I could see its eyes. They were cloudy.

  I tapped David on the shoulder and indicated for him to take it out.

  “Trigger treat, motherfucker,” he exclaimed, smiling dryly, and then fired from nearly point blank range. The bullets ripped its face apart. It dropped to the ground.

  Joe and Sam joined us.

  I asked, with irritation and dead seriousness reflecting in my voice, “You guys got CRS or is it just DAS?�
��

  “What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

  I never felt comfortable being the chosen leader of our survival group, but it was a responsibility I had accepted. In the GCC the burden had been minimal, with the exception of Joe’s behavior. Except the outside world had those inherent dangers that we all feared, and the lack of respect and/or awareness of those dangers were apparent in the cavalier attitude of two of my team members. The need for strong leadership was pressing.

  “Can’t Remember Shit or Dumb Ass Syndrome?” I explained. “What did I tell you two? Pay attention!” I reprimanded, in a commanding tone. “We can’t afford to lose anyone. Are we refueled?”

  Sam knew I was pissed, and he knew I was right; they had not listened to my warning. Sam replied with military respect.

  “Yes, sir! All tanks,” confirming his duty had been fully completed. “There was still pressure in the primary hydraulic pump.”

  “Good,” I responded, affably. “Then let’s go. I don’t want to be out when the sun goes down.”

  As we walked toward the vehicles David said, “Tell ’em.”

  “Go ahead,” was my answer.

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “We found a way in,” David said.

  I added, “An open door at the end of 25th Street. But it can wait. It’s time to go.”

  It was disappointing that we would have to leave without knowing what supplies may be stored in the armory, but we would return the next day to find out. Sam picked up the flamethrower that he collected and we departed.

  As we traveled up Park Avenue and approached 32nd Street, I saw the UD again, the one that Joe had missed. I radioed to him. “Hey, Joe. Lock and load. Your target is still at the intersection.”

  As we passed the UD, David shouted to me just as Joe unleashed another barrage. “Holy shit did you see that?”

  “Did he miss again?”

  “No, not that. The UD. Did you see that other UD? It ran up from behind the other one and slammed into the side of the Stryker. That fucker bounced clear back across the meridian.”

  Before David finished, Sam radioed, reporting that he thought he might have damaged a wheel when he ran over a piece of concrete on the road—debris from Joe’s first attempt to neutralize the UD—and he wanted to pull over for a visual.

  I ordered, “Negative, Sam, Negative. David has reported hostiles. Continue back to base.”

  When we arrived back at Grand Central I pulled my vehicle near the doors and was about to shut off the engine when Sam zoomed past, crashing through the entrance doors, driving through Vanderbilt Hall, down the ramp into the terminal, past the information kiosk and to the tunnel from which we had originally emerged. I followed in his wake of destruction. When I pulled in behind him he was inspecting the Stryker, while Joe, surprisingly, kept watch.

  “Just park it anywhere, Sam,” I said, disapproving of his trashing the terminal.

  He ignored me. In a pissed off tone, he said, “Look at this! There’s chunks of crap all over the darn Stryker. This looks like part of a nose!”

  Sam and Joe had an agenda upon our return, and that was to discover what was locked inside the train. I radioed Kermit to join us, a consolation prize for not going to the armory with us. I was glad I did, because I was in strong opposition of Sam’s and Joe’s plan of blowing the door off the armored command train. Our only explosives consisted of a few hand grenades. They had devised a way to duct tape two grenades together, secure them to the door, and from a safe distance use a length of strong flexible wire to simultaneously pull the pins. It was kind of like a war film booby-trap using a grenade and a trip wire. The door they chose to breach was the one at the end of the car that was not coupled to the caboose.

  “No disrespect to Army and Marine Corps engineering, but you two are nits!” I admonished. “It needs to be torched off for safety.”

  “It’s a great plan,” Sam defended.

  “Yeah,” Joe concurred, interjecting.

  I was pretty flabbergasted at the two of them getting along so well, especially since Joe had alienated himself for the most part from the rest of us.

  “Cutting the door off,” Sam continued, “would take too long—could be several hours.”

  “Do you two have any idea what’s behind those doors?” I asked but did wait for an answer. “No. You don’t. It’s reckless and stupid.”

  They both looked at me like I was an over-reacting civilian.

  “Don’t even look at me like that,” I told them, shaking my head in disbelief to their ridiculous and dangerous plan. “Should I have Kermit explain to you why it’s wrong?”

  “It’s not wrong; it’ll work,” Sam said with conviction.

  When I told Kermit their plan, his response took on a military tone. David and I backed away from the conversation to give Master Sergeant Brown room to express himself.

  “That plan is ill conceived, dangerous, and will not be carried out. Do you understand, Corporal?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Brown,” he said, snapping to attention, then followed up with, “Permission to speak freely, Sergeant Brown.”

  “At ease, Corporal. You may speak your mind.”

  “Sergeant Brown, the plan is sound. Two grenades are enough to blow the door apart with minimal fragmentation. It will work.”

  “I don’t doubt that your calculations are correct, but do you two have any idea of the significance of this car or what might be stored in it?”

  “Sergeant Brown?”

  “Can we surmise that this armored car was utilized by the Special Ops troops as their transportation car when they arrived by train?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Brown,” he affirmed, agreeing with Kermit’s assumption.

  “Can we also surmise, Corporal, that this is the only armored car on the train that could be utilized by the troops as their command and control car during the operation of removing sensitive materials from our facility and its subsequent closure?”

  “Yes. I believe that to be correct.”

  I hadn’t seen Sam’s demeanor that way since the first few days after we found him.

  “And were said troops armed during the operation?”

  Sam paused ever so slightly in his reply. I had a feeling Sam knew where the conversation was headed next. “Uh, yes, Sergeant Brown.”

  “Since we have ascertained that said car is the only armored car and that the soldiers were armed upon arrival to the GCC, where do you think on this train that those troops would have stored their weapons and ammunition?”

  Sam reluctantly responded, “That would be the armored car, Sergeant Brown… I’ll get the torch,” he said with a tone of disappointment.

  He had understood the point that seemed to have eluded him when I tried to explain it.

  “Good idea, Corporal. And take Joe with you. Dismissed.”

  I could tell that Kermit was not entirely comfortable at ordering Sam to stand down; after all, we were more like family instead of a military unit, but it was necessary. Sam was putting us at risk, no matter how adamant he was in the success of his plan. I was glad that Kermit interceded in such a harsh manner.

  Sam had been right, cutting through the door took time, and he hadn’t cut the entire door away. Instead he cut around the frame of the barricaded window. We stood ready as the cutaway section fell inside the car, but nothing leaped out at us.

  They were dead for a second time, both of them, one Corporal Battson and one Sergeant Littwin. The corporal was withered and emaciated, decayed with what the doctor liked to call cellular degeneration, as all of the undead would become. The corporal was a USABEIDCM soldier, dressed in his camouflage uniform and body armor, while the sergeant had been a Special Operations member. Though Littwin had no name tape on his uniform, Kermit had over heard in name in the mess hall.

  The sergeant’s body was not like the corporal’s. The sergeant had died from another cause. Though his body had deteriorated, it was clear that he been shot several times in the h
ead and chest.

  Upon the wall was a nearly full rack of M4 carbines, a few with M203 grenade launchers, and on another wall there was a nearly empty rack of what were the weapons the Special Ops Rangers had been using against the transmutes. There were also two larger machine guns, which looked familiar.

  “Okay, Sam. Do what you do so well. What are these, exactly?”

  He was momentarily shocked by my request, and then realized I was serious.

  Inspecting the full rack of assault weapons, Sam began, “These are Colt M4 carbines. This model Colt M4 fires in semi-auto or full auto, unlike the ones in the GCC armory, which are basic M4s that fire in semi-auto or three-round bursts. It uses a 5.56x45mm NATO round. These here are Heckler & Koch MP5K-N submachine guns. The ‘N’ refers to a “Navy” trigger group and has a 3-lug/threaded barrel for mounting suppressors or other muzzle attachments. They are a German design that utilizes a 9x19mm Parabellum cartridge. They are also the preferred assault weapon of Special Operations Command. And these beauties,” he said with glee and a smile, “are the 240 Bravo, adopted in 1977 by the Army to replace the M73 and M219 7.62mm machine guns, and the M85 .50 caliber. The M240 Bravo is a belt-fed, gas operated, medium machine gun, which fires the 7.62mm NATO cartridge. They have some serious stopping power. Some Strykers have them as a secondary armament. The Marines use a variant called a 240 Golf, and they mount them on top of their LAVs. Except ours are better because the 240 Golf lacks a front heat guard and has to be modified if you want to use it as ground weapon.”

  The last thing in the car truly amazed Sam, the two grenade launchers.

  “Holy moly! I don’t believe it!” he exclaimed, as he opened the top box and pulled the weapon out. “It’s a Milkor M32 MGL with—with MEI mercury rounds.”

  I said, “You mean a grenade launcher?”

  “No. Not just a grenade launcher, a MGL; a multiple grenade launcher. They call this the six pack attack. This is state-of-the-art. It’s got a reflex sight, a quad sight rail and barrel and can shoot five different kinds of forty-millimeter ammo including high-explosive and thermobaric rounds. This is some extreme firepower.”