by TW Gallier
"I disagree. Here me out. If memory serves me right, Blackhawks only have a range of about 270 miles. I suspect Hueys have a more limited range," Mike said. "Best I can tell off this map, Detroit is about two hundred fifty miles with only Dayton and Toledo in between, so at best they can only fly halfway to Detroit. If we can make it a hundred and fifty miles away, then I think we are clear."
"Good point," I said. "Also Detroit is our quickest route to Canada, while the trip to Buffalo is almost twice that long. And we'd have to go through Columbus and Pittsburg at the very least."
Charlie pressed a finger over Columbus. "What if we took the smaller roads to Columbus, and then shoot up to Akron?"
"Or we go west to this highway?" Sean said, running my finger up the route. "To Fort Wayne, and then into Toledo and Detroit?"
I liked those two routes better than going all the way to Buffalo, much less straight up I-75. Still, no matter what our route the helicopters would be able to spot us while on the road.
"Let's hold off on deciding right away," I said. "I'll take a few men and scout the area. Maybe we can find a safe place north of the city to watch I-75 and see if they are patrolling it before we make a final decision. I want to take the fastest route to Canada as possible."
"I'm onboard," Sean said. "If they are watching I-75, then we can decide on our route. Or maybe go to Lake Erie and find a large boat to cross over."
That was a great idea. A lake crossing would be a million times safer than a cross-country trek.
"I'll go with you," Terrel volunteered.
"Okay," Sean said, taking control. "Take him and Charlie. Do you want to use the Humvee?"
"I'm going," Mike said, glaring at Sean. "I won't be babied. I've gone on patrols and fought in worse condition. I'm going."
Sean looked at me and I nodded. I wasn't absolutely sure about Terrel, but he seemed competent. I trusted Mike and Charlie completely. We'd be on foot all day, crossing rough terrain more often than not.
"We'll go on foot. The helicopters are looking for moving vehicles," I said.
"Are you volunteering to go into danger again?" Jenny asked behind me.
I slanted a look over my shoulder. She stood there with arms crossed, glaring at me.
Chapter 35
There was no need to wait until dark. The helicopters' night vision capabilities probably made it safer for men on foot during the day. I put Mike at point, with me next, followed by Terrel and Charlie. Terrel and Charlie both carried SAWs, while Mike and I carried M-4s with grenade launchers. Each of us also carried a machete, but no spears.
All four of us had commercial road maps in case we became separated. I told them to return to base if separated. I didn't think we'd have a problem, until we ran into zombies less than fifteen minutes out.
"Shit," Terrel whispered harshly.
I heard them barreling through the woods at that time. We were in a small patch of woods between open pastures. Mike was leading us up a barbed wire fence line when the zombies attacked from the other side of the fence. There were only five, but for half a second I thought it was a mega horde.
We all turned into the attack, swinging our weapons around to engage. The zombies ran headlong into the fence. Two of them were sling-shotted backwards, and the rest were stopped in place.
"Machetes!" I barked before anyone fired.
I pulled my machete, lifted it high, and stepped forward as I brought it down upon the head of an elderly looking woman. She was wild-eyed, her face a black-and-blue mess, and she was covered in dried blood. I split her skull in two, wrenched my blade free, and then waited for another zombie to rush up and split his skull, too. Terrel and I each killed two, with Charlie killing the fifth.
"That was fun," Terrel said, looking wild-eyed for a second.
"It gets better," I said. "Move out, Mike."
"Does it really get better?"
I looked at Terrel. He looked hopeful. I shook my head. "No."
We moved up to the treeline and stopped while still in cover. I searched the patchwork of pastures, housing, and woods with my binoculars. The terrain was rolling hills, but mostly flat. I pointed at the highest hill, which looked like it would give us a pretty good view of the land to the north.
"That hill's our next objective, Mike. Take off," I said.
"Scouts out, Sarge," he said.
"Stop calling me 'Sarge.'"
We used cover as much as possible. There weren't many zombies out and about, but we spotted small groups every so often. Mike did a great job of spotting them first, so we could hide until they passed. Strangely enough, they weren't going south, but in all directions.
"There must be a lot of survivors around here if they are sticking around," Mike said. "Honestly, I didn't think we'd find many zombies this far north."
I was shocked by the number of zombies still around. Their numbers had decreased dramatically, but I really expected them all to be south of Lexington by now. For there to be so many, there had to be something keeping them there. All I could think of was survivors. And that brought up the question of why hadn't the local survivors all gone north to Canada?
"Hey, Roger, you want to check out that barn?" Mike asked.
It sat at the base of the hill, almost dead center in a ten acre lot. On the other side of that tract of land was the heavily wooded hill we were heading for. The top of the hill looked cleared, so I was hoping for an unobscured view of the land to our north for miles and miles.
"Why?"
It was a medium-sized metal building, and it was painted a beige color. It looked more like a big storage building than a farm structure for horses or cattle. There was a large custom brick home by the road, complete with swimming pool and tennis court.
"Vehicles," he said. "Motorcycles, ATVs, 68 Chevy pickups in cherry condition…"
"Shhh. You had me at 68 Chevy pickups."
A pickup wouldn't be a good scout vehicle, but dirt bikes or ATVs would allow us to cover a lot more ground. We might even make it all the way to the Ohio River with daylight to spare. On foot, we'd be lucky to get that far by dark.
The door was locked. It took longer than I was comfortable with to pry the door open. We made a lot of noise and I was almost ready to call off the attempt before we gained access.
"Whoa, baby," Mike called.
Translucent panels in the roof allowed plenty of light inside. We all rushed inside and closed the door. There was a concrete floor, with heavy-duty shelving on the sides. One section was for woodworking, with just about every tool I'd ever dreamed of present. Another section was obviously for auto repair and restoration.
"Nice," Charlie said.
Almost dead center was a 1964 Ford Mustang. It was dented and rusty, and up on blocks. All four wheels were missing, plus the engine was already hoisted out and hung a dozen feet away. Open tool boxes and removed parts circled the engine.
It wasn't going anywhere.
"Some lucky man was living the good life," I said. "I don't see anything we can use."
There weren't any motorcycles or ATVs. Nothing I saw would assist our movement or protect us from attack. No stored food or ammo, either.
We left the barn undisturbed and eastward toward the hill. And there they were. Zombies were ducking through the barbed wire fence. There were four of them, so I pulled my machete and charged them. The others followed my lead.
"It'd be easier to shoot them," Mike complained.
"Too noisy."
The zombie I swung at ducked and stepped aside. That didn't happen often. I missed, and he swung his arm at me like a bat, striking me in the face. They might be terrible fighters, with the skill level of three-year-olds, but zombies packed a powerful wallop. My eyes burned with the pain, but I lashed out with a foot and connected with his hip. The zombie was knocked back into the fence, giving me a short reprieve.
"Shit, shit, shit," Charlie cursed under his breath. "More coming in."
I saw them, and my heart dropped into
my stomach. There had to be twenty, thirty, or more coming out of the thick trees and brush.
"Mow them down!" I shouted.
We opened up full auto all them. I expended a full magazine, and then half of another before the zombies were all dead. We stood there looking around for more for a long moment.
"Into the woods," I said. "Before more zombies see us."
"They came out of the woods," Terrel said.
"Then we're taking the fight to them," I said.
Slipping through the fence, we moved in single file into the trees and started up the hill. The hill was the highest in the area, but not really that high. The slope was pretty gentle, too, so it would take a bit to reach the peak. About halfway up we heard them.
"Here they come," Mike shouted back.
Zombies came at us from three sides. Most were above us. We didn't even bother with machetes.
"Keep moving," I said.
I spotted a zombie with long red hair and beard. He looked like an insane biker or something, but with no shirt or pants, just bloody boxers and lots of bright orange body hair. My first thought was berserker. He came running down the hill. Mike ducked under his reaching hands, so he immediately focused on me.
I shot him in the chest, center of mass like I was taught. He kept coming. So I opened up on him from crotch to head. He fell dead at my feet, totally freaking me out for a second. Terrel and Charlie came charging up to either side of me, guns blazing.
Another was upon me. I just saw crazy eyes and brown hair, so head-butted him in the nose. The zombie stumbled back a step, which gave me room to bring my rifle into play. A single shot to the head dropped him. I stepped over him and continued up the hill.
"There's too many," Charlie said.
"Keep moving," I replied. I didn't see any more coming behind that group. "It'll be easier to fight them in the open."
I kicked and punched, but mostly shot zombies as we plowed through them. They circled around, forcing me to turn and walk backwards to protect our rear. I had to trust my comrades would defend my back, as I protected theirs.
"Damn. Is that all?" Terrel cried.
We all stopped and dropped to one knee, forming a defensive circle. I could see the treeline and hilltop about a hundred feet to my right. Terrel was facing uphill, with Mike behind me and Charlie to my left and facing downhill. There weren't any more zombies, and I didn't hear anyone moving through the underbrush.
"Did we kill them all?" Charlie asked, sounding as shocked as I felt.
"Maybe," I replied. I heard a different noise, off in the middle distance. "What's that?"
"Vehicles," Mike whispered.
I held my breath and listened. There were multiple vehicles, but I couldn't tell how many. From the sound, I guessed they were on the other side of the hill. So I signaled for Mike to continue up. Once we achieved our objective, maybe we could spot the men driving around below. I had a bad feeling we didn't really want to know who we were dealing with.
Just shy of the hilltop, the sound of vehicles increased dramatically. Mike stopped us before we broke cover. We took positions behind some thick brush, and then we waited. The vehicles were getting closer.
"Is there a road up there?" Charlie asked.
"Not according to the map," I replied.
It wasn't a very good map. Dirt roads weren't shown, for one. I was sure one lane paved roads weren't shown, either. It was a state map, not local, so there were limits to what it could show.
"Humvee," Terrel whispered, pointing through a gap in the brush. "One, two, three, four…"
"Scouts," Mike said.
I saw them, heart racing. US Army Humvees painted with desert tan. They had hardtops, with simplest of .50 cal cupolas. Only a single steel plate in front, with a slot for the .50 cal, protected the gunner. Upon those armored plates was written, Rough Riders. All four vehicles had a small white-over-red flag, or guidon, atop their antennas. So they were proclaiming themselves Cavalry Scouts.
"That sucks greasy donkey balls," I muttered.
"I wish you guys would come up with a different expression," Terrel grumbled.
They stopped in line before us, just below the peak. I watched as some of them dismounted and looked around. As best as I could tell, there were only three men per vehicle, and the gunners stayed behind their .50 cals to provide cover.
They were all dressed and armed for combat. They carried M-4s, wore desert camo, and had helmets. They were not wearing body armor. Seeing them gave me flashbacks to Afghanistan.
The scouts were cautious, speaking in hushed tones so we couldn't make out their words. It was obvious they'd heard our fight and were looking for us.
"Sergeant Lewis," one of the gunners called. "Lieutenant Sherman said find them and kill them."
One of the dismounted soldiers gave him the thumbs up.
I looked left and right. My men looked grim, but nodded. We didn't want to, but there was no choice. It was them or us. I pointed at Charlie, and then Mike. Getting their attention, I pointed at the gunners. They nodded, eyes narrowing with determination. Then I looked at Terrel, and indicated the dismounted soldiers. He looked sick, but nodded.
I took aim at Sergeant Lewis, and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back, and he was dead before he hit the ground. All hell broke loose around me. Bullets flying in all directions. The soldiers were taken off-guard, so Mike and Charlie quickly gunned down the four gunners. It took Terrel and I a few seconds longer to take out the eight dismounted troops.
"I'll have nightmares," Terrel said.
"I know," I said. "We didn't have a choice."
We moved up and quickly checked for anyone still alive. Thankfully, all twelve scouts were dead. I didn't know what we'd do if any of them was still alive. Killing a wounded man was too terrible to consider. Yet, could we take care of and secure a wounded prisoner?
"Search the vehicles," I said. "We also want their uniforms and gear. We'll hide the bodies in the underbrush."
I looked up and around. The scouts' platoon leader knew their location, so when they didn't report back he'd probably head over with the rest of the platoon. He might even call in the helicopters.
Chapter 36
I put Charlie behind one .50 cal, and Terrel behind another. Mike and I went through the vehicles quickly. The soldiers all brought their rucksacks. We found clean uniforms for all four of us, so Mike and I quickly changed. I wore Sergeant Lewis' uniforms, or more specifically, Sergeant First Class Lewis. It felt weird wearing rank higher than I ever achieved.
After Terrel and Charlie changed into uniforms, Mike and I stripped the dead bodies and dragged them into the woods. We covered them with leaves. I paused to say a prayer over them. They might've gone rogue, but they were still soldiers. And I felt bad about not burying them.
Returning to the lead Humvee, I looked over his laminated map of Cincinnati. It was not a military topographic map, but a simple city map. He'd laminated it with acetate, so he could draw and write on it with grease pencils. Check points and the positions of other units were denoted on the map. I could see their perimeter marked on the map around an airport on the north side of the Ohio River, due north of our location. The Cincinnati Municipal Lunken Airport apparently was their base.
There were no indications of troops or positions in or around the Cincinnati Northern Kentucky International Airport. Very odd, since we were sure that was where the soldiers were stationed.
"Are we going to take any of these Humvees?" Mike asked. "There are big RRs painted on their roofs, which I assume means Rough Riders. I think it is so the helicopters know they are good guys."
That made sense to me. Police put numbers on the top of their squad cars so helicopters could identify them. I just didn't know if RR was specific to this scout platoon. If so, they the pilots would know they are the missing vehicles. It might make us bigger targets.
"Yes. All four," I said. "Though, I want to stash three of them and continue on in just one." I look
ed up. "And remove those damned guidons."
If we managed to get all four back to the others, Sean and I could decide how many to use. If any. The number of drivers and gunners was limited, though. Still, I wanted to keep all of our options open. I assigned Terrel and Charlie the vehicles they were already in, and Mike and I each took one of the others.
"Let's go," I said. "Stay off the radio, but listen. We'll know when they figure out something is wrong."
I took the lead. There was no road, dirt or otherwise. The soldiers had maneuvered up as best they could, so we'd go back down the same way. The north side of the hill was scattered pasture and trees. We weaved through, stopping at the base of the hill to cut barbed wire. Indeed, the need to cut a path through the fencing proved to be our biggest hindrance. So I was glad when we reached a paved road going north.
I tried to keep to the smaller roads, while continuing northward. We crossed the Licking River using the I-275 bridge, just west of the Northern Kentucky University campus. Even though I was alone, I could hear Mike in my mind making a joke about the "Licking River." It would certainly have been a dirty joke, too.
Zombies were out and about all around that campus, and every one turned toward us. Few were close enough to the road to reach us. We moved quickly, and once past the campus I turned north on I-471 into Fort Thomas. From the map it appeared to be a bedroom community. I was quite pleased to discover it was a heavily wooded, hilly community.
Charlie honked to get my attention, so I pulled over.
"I'm under half a tank," Charlie said. He indicated a pair of tractor-trailer rigs on the side of the road. "Can we top off?"
I looked up and around. There were no helicopters in sight. I couldn't hear helicopters or ground vehicles, either. Also, each of the Humvee's had rubber siphoning hoses, so they were refueling the same as we were on the road. Since there were two abandoned trucks, we were able to refuel two at a time. The other two vehicles provided cover with their .50 cals. Unfortunately, we did have to shoot a few zombies, so I was getting antsy long before we finished.