Apoc Series (Vol. 1): Whispers of the Apoc [Tales From The Zombie Apocalypse]

by Wilsey, Martin (Editor)

  It was perfectly clear. Six soldiers, two children, and any number of civilians were less important than one woman everyone hoped could kill things that were mostly already dead.

  I did what every soldier was supposed to do in that situation. I nodded, saluted, and said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Are you okay, Jack? Can you handle this mission?”

  I noted Weng’s use of my first name and the worry in her voice. I didn’t know if was concern for the mission or for me, but it was my way out. All I had to do was to indicate some doubt and I’d be off the hook.

  Instead I said, “I’ll be fine, Colonel. After all, I’m from Baltimore. That city’s been plagued by mindless zombies for years. But that’s our own fault for electing them.”

  ***

  Gunfire woke her from her stupor. At first she thought it was the TV and was about to shout at her sons to turn down the noise. Then the haze parted and she remembered. The she looked out and knew they were coming for her. She wished them luck. She wished for her boys to be back. And she wished she gave a damn to whatever happened to her.

  ***

  The drones went in first, some with cameras, others with guns. When they didn’t do a complete enough job, Apache Longbows were sent in. Within fifteen minutes, whatever had been on the beach, living or undead, had been cut to ribbons.

  Drawn by the gunfire, zombies and hopeful civilians had begun gathering as soon as our chopper set down. We landed as close to the hotel as possible, but there was still some beach to cross. Along with Javier, I provided ground cover for the others, watching to make sure no one or no thing got too close, all the while trying to ignore twitching limbs searching for their torsos. Our chopper took off.

  We gained the lobby unopposed except for one guy behind the desk. When six armed soldiers all point their weapons at you and shout “Don’t move,” you should not move. The poor bastard moved, and it wasn’t to hit the deck. Instead he came toward us. Kelly’s shotgun took his head off.

  “Ride or walk?” Taylor asked, standing by the elevators. We had discussed this on the chopper. Both stairs and lifts had their good points and bad. In the end we chose the climb, none of us liking the idea of being trapped in a box.

  We took it slow, floor by floor, alert for noise or movement. Were there zombies on any of the floors? From what the Colonel said, it was possible. We knew Tarquin was safe in her room, that is, she would be if she had followed Command’s instructions to lock her doors and not let anyone in.

  The sixth floor. Tarquin’s floor. The door to the hallway opened inward. Jackson held it while the rest of us rushed the hallway. So far, so good. No zombies. Nothing except heads peeking out of other rooms trying to see what was going on.

  We ignored them, banged on the door of Tarquin’s room. No answer. We banged louder. Still nothing. Winder was about to put a size sixteen to just below the lock when I tried the knob. The door swung open. Weapons at the ready, we went in, Winder and Jackson standing guard outside.

  Weng had told us that Tarquin had two kids, boys, ages eight and ten. With the opening of the door and the rush of soldiers into the medium-sized room there should have been screaming. Instead we were met with silence. No professor, no kids.

  Before I could ask, Javier said, “Right room. Sarge.”

  I looked around, searching the room with cop eyes. No bodies on the floor. No blood on the walls, no damage, no ransacking except for one seriously depleted mini-bar.

  “She’s out here, Sarge,” Taylor said, looking out on the balcony.

  She? Not they? That was not good. I didn’t want to go out there but when Taylor opened the door I did.

  Doctor Beverly Tarquin was alone on the balcony. She was sitting in a plastic chair with empties from the minibar scattered around her. There were also two proper-sized bottles that had once contained wine. I looked at her. She was wearing a one-piece swimsuit that in most circumstances would have been flattering to her red hair and trim figure. This was not one of those circumstances.

  “Doctor Tarquin?”

  She looked up at me, tried to focus. After a few blinks she gave up and settled for a blur. Then she pushed herself up out of the chair. She wobbled, almost fell forward, then sat back down.

  The potential savior of the human race was drunk on her ass and worse yet, I thought I knew why.

  “Where are your sons, Professor?”

  Tarquin looked at me with that blank stare that comes over a lot of drunks as they process a question. Answers to “What’s your name, where do you live, how did your car wind up in the harbor?” take the back roads of their minds before replies come out of their mouths.

  In this case Tarquin just pointed to the beach. “I sent them out to play. I had to work and watched them from here. Watched them as the dead washed up. I yelled, but everyone was yelling. Then they were all running. Then they were gone, and so were my boys.”

  Tears came next. I wiped mine away and said, “Let’s get you out of here.”

  “But my boys …”

  “We’ll look for them later,” I lied. She was drunk enough to believe me.

  Then came shouting from the hallway.

  “Sarge,” Jackson yelled, “we got company. The hallway’s filling up.”

  “Living or dead?”

  “At this point it don’t matter.”

  Jackson was right. Word was out that there might be a way out of OC. We should have planned for this, I thought, but there was no time for what-ifs.

  Jackson and Winder had retreated into the room. Together with Javier the three had their weight against the door, locking it against the crowd.

  “What’s it like out there, Winder?”

  “Looks like what’s left of the hotel’s guests. I think most want to go home with us. Others might be wanting to eat us but will probably settle for munching on the crowd. And before you ask, we could probably fight our way out but not without taking a bite or two.”

  I took a peek outside. The beach was filling up. Soon they’d be coming inside—living and undead, the former risking all for a chance of escape.

  Time for Plan B. I got out my radio.

  “Baldwin to base. Tarquin is here but alone. Hotel and beach not secure. Repeat not secure. We need extraction from the sixth floor balcony.”

  Weng’s voice came over. “I’ve got your room on one of the camera drones. Your balcony doesn’t extend out far enough to get a chopper in.”

  I had been afraid of that. “What about the roof?” I asked. “If need be we could fight our way up. But not without casualties.”

  I watched Weng’s eye in the sky ascend past me. Minutes later, she said, “The roof is not good as an LZ. What isn’t slanted is covered. Can you fight your way to ground level?”

  I thought about the growing crowd outside the door. Then I eased a look over the balcony. The news had spread even further and the beach was even more crowded than when we landed. If she were sober I’d ask our zombie expert if the undead put out some kind of odor when there was fresh meat around.

  “It’s possible, Colonel, but not without heavy losses. And before you ask, that would probably include Tarquin.”

  “What about her children?”

  “They were on the beach when the dead washed up. It might be that they’re part of the group that’s knocking on the door.”

  I let that sink in, then prodded. “So do we fight our way out or make a rope out of bedsheets?”

  No answer, not right away. Then Weng came back. “Hold your position. We’ll come up with something. For now, Sergeant, remember your orders.”

  Weng didn’t sound too confident. Even her “remember your orders” had an implied “for as long as you can” about it.

  My orders. Nothing mattered but Tarquin. No way could she climb a ladder if they could get one to us. We’d have to carry her. If there was a “we” by the time it got here. How long would the door hold? How long could we hold them when it failed? What did the Colonel call it, the col
d equation? Some die so others can live. It was also, I realized, our job description.

  I gave the orders I had to. “Javier, Winder, put your weight against the door. Keep it closed. If it looks like it’s going to give, start firing through it. If it opens, stand your ground as long as you can.

  “Jackson, Kelly, move that dresser behind Javier and Winder and get behind it. If the crowd gets past them, do what has to be done. Taylor, you’re with me. Help is coming, but its ETA is uncertain. And it’s coming for Tarquin. Anyone else is a bonus.”

  There was nothing more to say. We knew our jobs. The target first, then us. Leave nothing for the enemy. I had a clear view of the backs of my team’s heads. I had my shotgun and a sidearm, the latter not Army regulation but the one I carried on the streets of Baltimore. I had more than enough ammo to do what might need to be done, with enough left over for me. We would deliver the target. We would not be taken.

  Javier and Winder held their ground against the pounding of the door. The rest of us waited, for the door to give way, for the chopper to come. I imagined the hallway crowd getting larger, putting more weight on the door from outside.

  “Sarge,” Taylor said, looking down at the mostly unconscious Tarquin. “You know there’s no way she’s getting in that chopper alone.”

  I looked at the balcony, checked the clearance. Weng was right. There wasn’t a helicopter built that could come close enough for a pickup without sheering off its blades. It might be possible for a line to be sent over—might. If the chopper could stay in one place long enough. It was starting to look like the only option was for a drone to be sent in to pick up Tarquin’s laptop and the rest of us to die heroes.

  “So we’ll throw her in.” A bad joke but the best I could do.

  She snorted. “No way in hell we can make that toss.” She saw the same thing I did. “Maybe a ladder or a line. Something. If she’s as important as you say, they’ll have some kind of plan.”

  Taylor looked down at the still-drunk professor. “And I thought Javier could tie one on. This lady is well jarred. Well, whatever they come up with, someone will have to carry her. And don’t look at me to do it.”

  So we waited. To give Javier and Winder some relief, I had them switch, one at a time, with Kelly and Jackson.

  The door held, with no signs of cracking or giving way. Not yet, anyway. And sooner or later someone would find some tools and start putting them to use. Then it would be all over but for the shooting. And the killing. And the dying.

  My field phone rang. Weng. Command had come up with a plan, two plans actually. Normally I wouldn’t bet on any plan put together by anyone above the rank of lieutenant, but this time all our chips were on the table with no chance of buying back in if we lost.

  Then she told me what the plans were. And suddenly we were all in with an unsuited two and three with four aces showing after the turn.

  Strapping Tarquin to my back and rappelling down the front of the hotel seemed like the lesser of two dumb ideas. If the beach and balconies below us could be cleared. I hoped the hell hey could because I didn’t want to try Plan B.

  I saw them before I heard them. Specks in the distance that got bigger as I watched. Two Apaches and a transport. The transport was smaller than the chopper that took us in. Too small for six people, maybe too small for four.

  “I’ll need someone to piggyback the professor when they shoot the rappel line over.”

  No one spoke. They looked one to other then back at me. I saw their answer in their eyes. They had already accepted that they were not going to leave the room alive. They had made their peace with whatever form of God they prayed to and had decided on what to do in the last moments before meeting Him.

  ***

  Through her haze she knew they were talking about her. Something about a rescue. Maybe they found her boys and were bringing them up to her room. Or maybe they’d bring her to them. Either way they’d be all right, she thought. Boys are tough, they can survive anything. She looked out over the ocean, then down at the beach. It was as crowded as it always was. But why, she wondered, was everybody looking up at her and not at the water. The thought came to her that they should not be out there at all, not with what was happening. Or maybe it’s over, and things weren’t as bad as we thought they’d be. With this happy thought and the prospect of seeing her boys again, she let herself drift off. They’d wake her when the boys got back.

  ***

  The transport chopper came as close as it could, then it gave way to the Apaches. Knowing what was going to happen, I yelled, “Get her inside and down.”

  Taylor dragged the professor out of her chair and into the room just as the Apaches started firing into the rooms below us, clearing the balconies of anyone hoping to catch a ride or maybe just wanting to see what all the noise was about.

  The gunfire wasn’t so loud that I couldn’t hear that the pounding on the room door was getting worse.

  “How we doing? The door holding?”

  “Good news and bad news, Sarge,” Jackson said. “The door’s doing great but the frame’s starting to give way.”

  I should have expected that. I’ve worked enough B&E’s in Baltimore to know that a strong door and a good lock mean nothing if they’re attached to a weak frame.

  “How long?”

  “Long enough for you to get the doctor out of here.”

  That wasn’t my plan. “Kelly, stand down. I’ll take my turn at the door.”

  “Like hell, Sarge. We took a vote.” The rest nodded.

  A nod and a “thank you” wasn’t enough, but it would have to do. My phone rang again.

  “Sergeant Baldwin, this is Chopper One. We can’t clear the balconies. As fast they go down more take their place. Stand by for the package.”

  A large quad drone was released from the rescue chopper. As it approached us, it trailed a long black tube, maybe wide enough for two people strapped together.

  “They’ve got to be fucking kidding,” Taylor said, once she realized what Plan B was.

  “When the drone gets here we have to secure our end of that tube to our balcony. Then Tarquin takes a ride. Once she’s safe, then we go one by one for as long as it holds.”

  The banging was getting louder. Not much time left. “Who ordered pizza?” Winder said as the drone dropped its end of the tube.

  Setup was quick. We strapped it down, the rescue chopper lowered itself to make a 45 degree slant, and we were ready.

  “Time to go, Doctor Tarquin.”

  ***

  She barely heard the words. Time to go where? With her boys, but they weren’t with her. She couldn’t, wouldn’t leave without them.

  Hands on her wrists, dragging her from the chair. Not without the boys. She starting kicking out, trying to break free.

  ***

  “Not without them, not without my boys.”

  It was the worst time for the professor to begin sobering up. She starting fighting us as, behind me, I heard wood breaking.

  “Sarge, go now. You have to,” someone shouted.

  Tarquin went limp as Taylor slugged Tarquin from behind. As I caught the doctor, Taylor said, “He’s right, only this one matters. Go. We’ll be right behind you.” She held the tube open.

  I bear-hugged Tarquin and dove into the blackness of the tube which immediately collapsed around us.

  Damn, I thought. Dying was one thing, dying stupidly was another. But then gravity and the silicon slickness of the tube’s lining did their work and we started downward. I had a vision of Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation careening out of control on a snow disc, a vision that was dissolved by gunfire all around us. The Apache’s clearing the upper balconies, I told myself but knew that wasn’t all. By now the room’s door frame would have given way and the other five would be fighting for their lives, or maybe their true deaths. I hoped at least Taylor would make it.

  ***

  Blackness, like a womb, like a rebirth. Where were my boys? Will they be waitin
g for me? Is that them? No, it’s not. It’s nothing human.

  ***

  We slid into the rescue chopper and were grabbed by rough hands. Soldiers in full body Kevlar pointed their weapons. One of them said “Cut it loose” and their end of the tube fell away.

  Shouting “No!” I moved toward one of them, only to be pushed back. Part of me wanted to look out but I was afraid that if I did I’d see Taylor falling out of the tube into the crowd below. Another part of me was sure that if I got too close to the open door someone would push me out.

  “It was only supposed to be the target,” a different voice said.

  “Change of plans. Doctor Tarquin didn’t want to play.”

  Guns were on us, guns with trigger guards removed to allow for the heavy gloves. One of them said, “You move, you’re dead. You resist, you’re dead.” Then to someone else, “Secure them.”

  As they were tying me up, the chopper turned to let the Apaches move in. Missiles were fired into the room, our room. I screamed and cursed them, even knowing why they did it. The new rules of battle—kill your own for the good of all, even them.

  Our arms, hands knees, and feet were strapped; leather hoods covered our heads. The professor and I made the return trip back to base as just so much baggage.

  When we landed, more armored people stripped us and checked for bite marks. Despite not finding any, we were still put into separate observation cells as men with guns waited to see if we stayed human or turned zombie.

  No one ever told me why Tarquin was worth the cost of five good soldiers. I heard one story that had her with the CDC trying to weaponize maggots and flesh-eating bacteria. Another had her escaping custody and heading back to OC to find her boys.

  An hour after our chopper landed, as reports came in that some of the undead were gathering at the edge of the Assawoman River looking like they were ready to take another swim, the Air Force sent in bombers. They stopped short of going nuclear, but by the time they landed, Ocean City was a wasteland, its only visitors helicopters carrying cold-eyed snipers, taking down stragglers, both living and undead, with well-placed head shots, leaving it a land of ghosts where brave men and women died and lost boys searched for their mothers.