by TW Gallier
"Don't get too close to the zombies," I said.
I could envision them climbing up on the boat and coming after us. One bite was all it took to be changed into one of them. I'd been bitten a few times, but always through clothes and my skin never broke. I felt lucky and didn't want to push my luck any further.
"I need a couple shooters outside on deck to keep the swimmers off," Greg called.
Brett, Larry, Randy, and Dan volunteered. I remained inside, not wanting to waste any of Mike's precious ammo. In the end, we only had to shoot two of them.
I worried zombies would jump off the bridge to get to us. That worry proved unnecessary. We passed under without any jumpers. Still, Brett, Randy, and Dan went to the rooftop deck and stood watch. Larry came back in to his family.
"Do you want to shut it down here and go up on top to that steering console?" I asked.
It was much more of a command center up on the roof. Only the bare basics were down there inside the houseboat.
"I'm not sure how to transfer control up to the top," he said.
Neither did it. In fact, I didn't know you had to. We'd figure it out later.
A few people asked Greg to open it up a little more once past the bridge, but he kept it slow and steady. I explained to them we were towing a pair of johnboats, but some people still didn't understand. Neither Greg nor I were in the mood to argue the point, or explain any further.
The Island Cove Marina and Resort came into view. Greg was headed toward the closest island to that marina.
"We have company," Greg called.
He pointed and then I saw them. Several speed boats were coming around the bend well past the islands, and out to the west of our location. At first I thought they wouldn't see us and continue northward. I was sadly mistaken. They all turned toward us.
Greg shouted, "All armed people out on deck."
The men rushed up to the roof deck. The armed women went out on the front deck. Travis joined the women, which I thought strange.
There were two bass boats with powerful outboard engines, and five johnboats. The bigger, faster bass boats sped ahead of the others. I saw men with rifles inside those boats, most crowded upon the front decks. I took aim at the lead bass boat, and then someone above me fired.
The driver of that boat fell overboard, and the speeding boat flipped a second later. The men in the other boats started shooting. But before I could fire off a round, Travis surged up behind me and grabbed my rifle. He slammed an elbow into my cheek, ripping the rifle away.
"This is mine, bitch. Stand back and watch how a man does it."
Women cried out in shock, but no one offered to help. He might be a middle-aged man, but I didn't fool myself into thinking I could beat him in a fight. And he might shoot me. I had a pistol, which I pulled, but I couldn't shoot him just for that.
Roger and Sean will take care of him when they get back.
Travis started firing. He went full auto right away, and spent all of the ammo within seconds. He didn't hit anything that I could see. Then he fired a grenade which went well off to the side.
"Damn sights are off," he grumbled. "Gimme another grenade."
"No," I said. "You're a lousy shot."
"I will kick your ass, bitch," he said, turning on me.
I swung my pistol and whacked him in the cheek. My cheek was still throbbing, so I felt good about it. His knees wobbled, so I hit him again and again. Travis collapsed as I snatched the empty rifle out of his grasp.
"Tie his hands behind his back," I commanded. When the other women hesitated. "Now!"
Rosa jumped forward and pulled Travis' belt off, and used that to bind his wrists behind his back. I didn't think it would hold him long, but I didn't need that much time. I put a full magazine into the rifle, and then loaded another grenade. Travis started to stir and struggle.
So I turned and pounded the rifle's butt into his face.
"Don't make me shoot you, jerk," I growled.
Turning back to the fight, I accessed the situation. The one bass boat was zig-zagging around behind us, while the five johnboats continued to close on the other side.
"Ladies, concentrate your fire at the bass boat," I said. "Make sure you lead them."
"What does that mean?" Nicole Franklin asked.
"If you don't know, don't shoot," I said, shaking my head. Not everyone grew up in a military family that also loved to hunt. Not their fault. "Don't waste ammo."
"Ammo means bullets, right?" Nicole asked.
"Yes," I said, trying to not feel frustrated.
I turned my attention to the incoming johnboats. Between the five of them I counted forty men. Yeah, they were way overloaded with people. I viewed them as landing craft, coming to board our houseboat. I popped off a few rounds, but couldn't tell if I was hitting anything, so took aim with the grenade launcher.
I pulled the trigger. Poof!
Ka-boom!
I didn't hit the boat, but the grenade went off in the water about ten feet in front of it. The johnboat swerved so sharply that half the men tumbled out into the water. Reloading, I took aim at the same boat, which was moving slower and moving horizontally to us now.
I hit it on the second shot.
The men above cheered and laughed. I was both thrilled and horrified. I'd just killed three men outright. My hands started shaking, eyes filling with tears. Rosa was there, hugging me, whispering in my ear.
"It's okay, sweetie. It's self-defense," she said.
Embarrassment washed through me. Regret, too, but mostly I was embarrassed by my reaction. I'd already killed living men and women, and lots of zombies. I might not have reacted before, but usually afterwards when it was safe, and usually not so profoundly.
"I'm fine," I whispered hoarsely. "Just need to put on my big girl panties."
Rosa gave a short giggle, hugged me tight again, and then stepped back. I loaded another grenade, took aim, and fired.
"Oh my God, Jenny, you can't miss," Rosa cried.
The remaining johnboats turned away. I noticed only about half as many men stood in them. The guys up on the roof deck were taking care of business, too. And then gunfire erupted above and from the water on the other side. The bass boat was racing back and firing us up. I could hear bullets popping into the side of the houseboat. Women and children inside started screaming. I turned to engage, but the other women on the deck were between me and that boat load of killers.
"Oh," Rosa grunted beside me. "Oh no."
I looked and she was bleeding from two wounds in her chest. She teared up, looked at me in horror, and dropped.
"Rosa!"
More women cried out and fell. The bass boat came around front at high speed. I aimed and opened up on full automatic.
Pap-pap-pap-pap-pap-pap!
I don't know if it was my fire, or that of the men above us, but I saw men dropping before the bass boat flipped end over end. When heads popped up in the water, I shot them too. I fired until I ran out of ammo, and then put another magazine in and continued firing.
Leslie Ripa, an ER nurse, was over Rosa. I knew my friend was dead when Leslie closed her eyes and shook her head. The tears began flowing. Everyone was crying. Then I saw Cindy Hooker floating face down in the water. Inside the boat, the screaming and crying was even worse. I didn't want to know who else was wounded or dead.
Greg popped his head out the door, "Is everyone…" He stopped and looked at Rosa, averted his face with a grimace. "We have dead and wounded inside that need help. Jenny, your boys are okay."
I ran to Timmy and Harlan, who looked to be in shock. Holding them tight, I cried and prayed. After a few minutes I had to go help with the wounded. Vince was taking care of the injured up on the roof deck, and Leslie was in charge inside. They gathered the wounded together and started with the most serious first. The rest of us did what we could to help and comfort the wounded.
The worst part was the dead and wounded children. I thought I would break down several t
imes. Mothers held dead children and wailed. Fathers held the mothers and sobbed. It was a nightmare.
We gathered the dead on the back deck. Seven dead, including two children. Besides Rosa, her four year old daughter Lorraine was killed. Fred was a basket-case. His family suffered the worst loss. Randy O'Neil was dead, after losing his wife on the mountain. I prayed they both were resting in peace. Middle-aged Eddy Daniels was dead, leaving his twenty-something wife behind and looking completely lost and in shock. Carter Carr died, too, and he was only fifteen and so brave throughout our long ordeal. So now the Carrs had lost two teenage children, with only sixteen year old Haley left. Cindy Hooker left behind a husband, and last but not least, Kyle Walters was killed.
It was the most casualties we'd taken since the last mop attack. With the loss of the young children and young mothers, it was our worst and most devastating loss so far.
"And your stupid husband thought we'd be safer on this boat," Travis sneered.
Rage filled me as I turned on him. Travis was still tied up. Greg found some rope and had him bound pretty well. Before I could go off on him, Brett kicked him in the face, and then started pounding on him with fists and knees. Greg had to pull him off Travis, but not before leaving that bastard a bloody mess.
"I'm sick and fucking tired of him trying to cause strife and trouble!" Brett said, and pulled his pistol.
"Don't!" I shouted. "That's murder. We're better than that."
"Toss him overboard," one of the women shouted. "He's nothing but trouble."
There was a big debate, really an argument, about what to do about Travis. He had a few supporters, but with every incident their numbers grew less and less. In the end, Greg had Travis placed in a johnboat and taken to an island. They left him stranded there to await Sean's return. I was ready to just leave him there period.
Chapter 17
"Go right," I said as Sean drove over countless zombies.
I-75 merged into I-24, which we needed to take up to Arnold AFB. We hadn't reached downtown Chattanooga yet, but the zombies weren't as thick as they'd been on I-75 above Cleveland. They were still pretty bad.
"The trip back is going to be so much worse," Terrel said.
I was thinking the same thing. Maybe we could take smaller highways and side roads back. Even though the zombies were pretty thick through Cleveland, it wasn't as bad as I-75. I wasn't sure any vehicle could force its way through such a thick press of zombies.
Our slow progress was making us all antsy. At least we weren't constantly forced to shoot zombies. We might only be going 20 MPH an hour, but it was still too fast for any zombies to get hold of the bus and haul themselves up.
Sean hit the gas and forced his way up and over a pile of zombies, which rocked us dangerously to the left. I worried school buses might be too top-heavy. Maybe we could find better vehicles on the base, with lower centers of gravity. Mike's suggestion about going to Fort Knox for a tank or Bradley started sounding good.
The density of the zombies decreased once we were on I-24. We were heading west, so the few zombies on the road were mostly crossing it. I was able to relax a little and Sean sped up to 50 MPH.
Soon I spotted the sign for downtown and knew we were close to the highway turning more southwardly. Once we passed out of the city limits, the highway would become increasingly westward, but turning northwest to Arnold AFB and Nashville beyond.
"This is downtown Chattanooga?" Charlie asked. "I expected more. This is like driving through the country in New Jersey."
I shook my head. Has he even been to New Jersey? I thought Chattanooga was one of the most beautiful cities in America. Who the hell wanted to just see concrete and glass everywhere? Chattanooga had mountain views and lakes, wooded hills and valleys. What was not to love?
"I love this city," Terrel said. "My wife is from here, and I met her at a club while in the Air Force. After I got out, we lived here for five years before moving to Atlanta."
"The only thing I ever knew about Chattanooga before passing through last week was it had a famous choo-choo."
That was a groaner. "That's a long way to go for a cheap laugh," I replied.
"But worth it," he said.
The road began to turn more southward. More zombies were staying on the road, too. Sean continued on at 50 MPH, easily avoiding the few zombies. For the most part we were past them before they realized fresh meat was approaching from the rear.
They were some of the most frightening, bloody, and yet pathetic zombies I'd seen so far. Every race and creed was represented within their ranks. Big and small, adult and child, black and white, fat and skinny. Well, not so many fat ones anymore. And some were quite anorexic looking.
So many were barefooted, and their feet raw and bloody from the miles and miles across open country and pavement. How could that not hurt? Or be infected? And so many were missing fingers and toes and ears it made me wonder if the zombie infection boosted their physique and immune system.
I couldn't help but wonder why they were all heading south. Was there still some basic instinct within that understood they couldn't survive the harsh northern winters? And what were they going to do when they reached the coast?
"Are we almost there?" Mike asked.
"What are you, ten years old?" I replied.
"Funny. I'm not from around these parts, bubba," Mike said. "I haven't the foggiest idea where we are, or where the base is located. It's just outside of Chattanooga, right?"
"No, it's about halfway between Chattanooga and Nashville," Terrel said.
"Holy crap. You want to do this in one day?"
"Simmer down, surfer dude," I said. "The base is only about an hour and half from here."
The zombies weren't too bad, and it was a straight shot up I-24 to Arnold, so I could relax a little. My biggest worry was other survivors. We didn't have much ammo, so couldn't survive a sustained firefight.
The zombie population dramatically increased shortly after crossing over Nickajack Lake. Their density on the road increased again after passing through Kimball and turning more northwestwardly. Sean had to slow back to 35 to 40 MPH again and he was forced to start weaving through the horde.
It cleared up again past Monteagle.
"What kind of perimeter security are we looking at, Terrel?" Sean asked.
"Not much. There's no actual gate, so we can drive right in," he said. "Also, the base was decommissioned back in 2009. The Tennessee National Guard uses it now."
"But you said you knew where guns and ammo was kept," Mike said. "If it's decommissioned there won't be any."
"National Guard," Terrel said. "I think they have more and better weapons than we had in the Air Force. In fact, I know they did. I visited the base last year on business and got a tour of a Guard garrison. There was a well-stocked arms room inside."
I hoped that was still true. Of course, we all understood that we weren't the only ones interested in acquiring military hardware. The armories could all be looted already. But according to the Mixons, who were from Chattanooga, the base was hit hard by the zombie bombs. Their words. So we were hopeful the base was relatively intact and filled with weaponry for the taking. If not, I knew where the Army Reserve facility was in Chattanooga, and we'd check it on the way back. If we failed to acquire any weapons or ammo, then we were in a heap of trouble.
To say I was a little anxious was an understatement.
True to Terrel's word, we were able to drive straight through the so-called Main Gate. There was no gate or fencing to be seen. It fact, it was kind of like a small town. Reminded me of Army bases. Terrel came up to direct Sean to the National Guard garrison. We still had a ways to go. It was a big base and the Guard's area was in the northwestern corner, or across the base from the Main Gate.
"We're almost there," Terrel said after we'd crossed the base. "Take a left at the next intersection."
Sean was blowing by stop signs. As far as I could see we were alone on the streets. Zombies were even few
and far between. And then a dog ran across the road, followed by a bunch of zombies.
"Shit!" Sean said, hitting the brakes. We slammed into them, and then he hit the gas. "Is everyone okay?"
"What's that noise?" Charlie asked.
I hadn't noticed it, but there was an odd sound coming from the front right. We continued up the road and I noticed Sean having trouble with the wheel.
"It's really pulling to the right. I might have damaged something," he said. "Is that smoke?"
We couldn't stop. There were more zombies in front of us, and the survivors of the dog chasers were following us as well. I hurried up front, opened the door, and leaned out. The stench of burning rubber overwhelmed me. The front right tire was smoking like crazy.
"I think the wheel well is bent back against the tire."
"Is it fixable?"
"I won't know until we stop."
Stopping wasn’t an option. I pulled my M-4 around front, and shot three zombies. They weren't a real threat to us, but I needed to kill something. When Sean turned at the intersection, the tire stopped rubbing, but started again when he straightened the wheel.
"That tire isn't going to last long," I said. "You have to find a safe place to park so we can fix it."
"Too late," he said as the tire blew. Sean slammed on the brakes and struggled to keep it on the road. "We're on foot. Move out!"
I led them out of the bus. Terrel came forward.
"Follow me," he said, and took off between buildings.
We shot a few of the closest zombies, and then turned and ran like hell. Terrel led us a merry chase for two blocks, winding through buildings, using any cover he could find. We lost the zombies quickly, and then he stopped before a large structure.
"This is where I saw the arms room," he said.
The double doors were unlocked. My nostrils were violently assaulted even before I entered. Someone, or more likely, many people, had died and rotted inside the building. We found them quickly enough. Their remains of were scattered and blended, so it was impossible to count how many bodies were saw. There was dried blood on the floor and walls.