Soldier On: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

by Shawn Chesser

  Vasquez watched the boy immediately get back on his feet; the hole in the kid’s chest was the size of a volleyball.

  “God damn,” Vasquez never took the Lord’s name in vain, but the sight in front of him was a worthy exception to the rule. His hands shook as he shouldered his M4 and put the kid out of its misery.

  The noise from the discharging weapons was deafening indoors. It was amplified greatly because of the low dropdown ceiling. The cordite haze hovering in the air reduced the visibility somewhat.

  Moving in from the left, Sergeant Stanley Loomis engaged the threat nearest him first; the undead woman was clothed only in a blood stained hospital gown, split down the rear. Her naked backside was colored with dark black and purple post mortem bruising; she had apparently been positioned face up shortly after her first death. With a determined deliberate pace the flasher lurched in his direction. Her hissing and moaning was the most evil thing he had ever heard.

  Sergeant Loomis had the woman in his sights and pulled the trigger. There was no recoil, no report and no shell casing pinging on the floor. The round in the chamber had failed to fire and the ghoul was almost on top of him.

  Brook squeezed off two shots from an oblique angle, three feet to Loomis right. The walker’s face disappeared in an explosion of flesh, bone, and dark gray brain matter. Brook brushed past the ashen faced soldier and took cover behind a chest high nurses station.

  The remaining Rangers had their hands full fighting the zombies as they pushed deeper into the lobby of Saint Francis hospital.

  ***

  The SOAR pilot held his ship in a hover directly over the Life Flight landing pad. It was situated on the ground level so that the incoming medical crew had direct access to the trauma center through a set of wide sliding glass doors. The landing pad was ringed with seven foot tall fencing to prevent anyone from accidentally wandering into a spinning tail rotor.

  Captain Gaines planned to catch the zombies in a classic pincer. The Rangers would close on them from the front. The Delta Team, consisting of Gaines and five other shooters would fast rope, from one helo at a time and form up, before venturing into the bowels of the trauma center. For insurance, Gaines left one sniper on each of the Little Birds to provide over watch security as well as relay any Z movement to the teams on the ground.

  ***

  “Go,go,go,” as soon as Captain Ronnie “Ghost” Gaines gave the order, the three Delta operators from Badger Two hit the fast ropes. In seconds they were on terra firma, silenced SCAR rifles at the ready. Badger One side slipped into position the rotor tips passing dangerously close to the hospital wall. The Night Stalker pilot hovered in place while Gaines and the other two operators quickly rappelled to the ground.

  The Delta Team moved as one, each man watching a specific sector. Gaines abruptly went to one knee and signaled for his men to follow suit. A throng of undead shambled past, directly in front of the six motionless operators. Captain Gaines initiated contact, his SCAR silently spit lead missiles head high, ribbons of flesh and shards of cranium plastered the stark white walls. The spent brass bounced and tinkled on the floor.

  In unison, Sergeant Jackson engaged the ghouls on the left and Sergeant Yates targeted the zombies on the right. In seconds nine undead, in various stages of decay, lay heaped on the floor, their ravaged bodies intertwined in a final orgy of death.

  Gaines ejected the nearly full magazine and replaced it with a fresh one. The other men followed suit.

  The NICU was near the rear of the three story facility. Gaines felt very fortunate that the equipment they needed was on the ground floor, meaning there were no stairs to negotiate. In a moment of absurd clarity Gaines remembered how much he had hated moving before the shit hit the fan and a real life George Romero movie became his new reality.

  “Clear.” Gaines yelled after looking through the glass windows inset into the swinging double doors labeled “NICU.”

  Once in the neonatal intensive care unit it became obvious the widespread horror spawned by the Omega virus had been taken to a new level. The entire room looked like a set from one of those SAW movies.

  Usually unaffected by the violence he encountered in his line of work Captain Gaines involuntarily froze in his tracks and took in the carnage. It was the first time in days that he had felt empathy for the dead. The infected had already gotten to the helpless newborns unfortunate enough to come into the world during the hellish outbreak.

  If there were any reason to question God’s existence, Captain Gaines thought, this is it.

  Most of the incubators contained bits and pieces of tiny corpses. Inside of one, an underdeveloped hand scratched at its plastic coffin, the tiny undead brain instructing it to feed.

  At the first sight of the dismembered miniature bodies, Sergeant Yates, a father of two nearly fainted, his knees hit the ground first, followed by a torrent of hot vomit.

  Sergeant Jackson registered the movement first but couldn’t react quickly enough. An undead nurse sprang from a darkened supply closet and pounced on the kneeling Yates; her weight propelled him face first into the floor shattering his teeth into jagged shards. Instantly the monster latched onto the side of his neck and drew back with a mouthful of skin and carotid artery.

  Yates let out an anguished howl and bucked the infected woman off of his back; blood cascaded from his horrific neck wound and mixed with the puke on the floor.

  Reacting to the attack, Gaines leveled his SCAR and delivered a double tap to the rear of the ghouls head.

  “Medic,” the Captain bellowed as he probed the rest of the room for lurking zombies. He was physically ill because they had let their guard down and failed to check the small closet.

  Except for Yates fighting to live, it was eerily silent in the hospital, even the raucous shooting in the ER had ceased.

  “This is Chalk Leader, how copy?”

  Gaines ignored Staff Sergeant Todd and withdrew his Beretta. After he was certain there was a round chambered, he made the sign of the cross over his fallen comrade with slow deliberate motions. Yates had passed and was now starting to reanimate. “Sorry friend,” Gaines whispered before shooting the fallen man behind the ear.

  The Captain processed his deed for a moment before answering the Ranger’s radio call. “This is Ogre One. The objective is clear; bring your squad forward, over.”

  “Copy that, Chalk One out.”

  In an instant the NICU was overflowing with soldiers.

  Gaines noticed Brook file into the room amid a knot of Army Rangers. “Christ, lady how’d you bribe your way onto that helo?”

  To Brook it almost sounded like a compliment. “I’ve acquired a few new survival skills.”

  Gaines arched his eyebrows and started issuing orders. “Gentlemen, grab any and everything this pretty lady tells you to and load it onto Badger Three. ASAP, the enemy knows we are here...and he wants to eat.”

  As Brook passed by the tall Captain, he stopped barking orders for a tick and quietly whispered into her ear, “Now don’t go and get yourself bit. I wouldn’t want a can of Cade “Wyatt” Grayson whoopass opened up on me.” He let loose a suppressed version of his infamous cackle.

  ***

  To a man, every soldier disregarded the undead preemie thrashing about in the grimy incubator. Being a mother herself the sight was too much for Brook to ignore. There was no way to tell for sure due to the advanced decomposition, but judging by the pink wristband the poor thing was a little girl. Ignoring reason and listening only to her instincts, Brook grasped the things stick-thin wrist and read the name on the plastic band. “Well Hanna, sweetie, it’s time to go to sleep now. I’m sorry it had to be like this...” Brook placed a small pillow over the hissing babies’ shriveled face. A muffled report followed, the pillow absorbed the gunshot and any blowback. Brook looked at the pistol in her shaking hand, and wondered how many more “yets” this new world would hurl at her.

  ***

  The large Chinook shuddered slightly and
lifted into the air, she was a bit heavy due to all of the medical gear stuffed in amongst the crew and passengers.

  Before the bird was fully loaded, Brook wheeled two mobile med carts out of the ER and had them shoehorned onto Badger Three. The carts were stuffed full with every type of medicine; hopefully there was something in there that might help her brother Carl.

  Sergeant Stewart Yates’ body was secured in a black rubberized body bag and rode home one last time with his Ranger chalk. The twenty mile flight back to Schriever took only a few minutes. Sitting next to Yates’ body was very uncomfortable. Brook had been desensitized to killing and seeing the infected on a daily basis had ceased to faze her, but his death of someone that she had just been interacting with was a different story. During the entire flight back, Brook grieved for the man and his kids...if they weren’t dead already.

  ***

  As soon as the bird full of med gear crossed over the perimeter fence, Brook watched the two Little Birds carrying Captain Gaines and his men peel off and head for Fort Carson. The Chinook started to slow, prompting her to look out the front canopy between the pilots. The horizon dipped, along with her stomach. Out of the port side bubble, Brook watched the reason for the abrupt maneuver glide by, followed by the roar of its four huge turboprops. As soon as the C-130 touched down on the end of the runway, the Chinook pilot nosed the big beast down and darted for a suitable landing spot.

  ***

  A cadre of soldiers rushed to the chopper and began unloading the medical gear. Brook wheeled the medicine carts to the tarmac. “These need to go along with the other gear,” she said to one of the men scurrying about.

  The base was foreign to her; not to mention the fact that she was loopy as hell from sleep deprivation. It took her a few moments to get her bearings.

  After a few wrong turns, Brook found the infirmary. Annie Desantos looked peaceful with her eyes closed. The only discernable movement was the rising and falling of her distended abdomen. She’s still pregnant, Brook thought, that’s a good thing. “Big momma, we need to get you and Mike Jr. on a baby monitor,” she said softly.

  Brook pulled the sheet up around Annie’s neck and exited the room as quietly as she entered.

  ***

  Carl’s condition hadn’t changed since the last time Brook checked in on him. His scab covered face was slack, his breathing seemed normal and judging by the digital numbers on the heart monitor-his was still beating.

  “Carl, it’s your sis, Brook. Can you hear me?” She took hold of her comatose brother’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Brook started, Carl had squeezed back. “I know you’re in there. You squeezed my hand. Brook did it again but got no response.

  Brook held Carl’s hand while caressing his hair. Using a wet washcloth, she dribbled water on his forehead and dabbed at his oozing wounds.

  The shotgun blast sure did a number on your face big brother.

  After taking care of the most pressing matters on her plate, Brook groggily walked back to the Quonset hut that was her temporary home.

  ***

  Another transport plane roared overhead but she was so spent that she couldn’t summon enough energy to even look up. Brook opened the door and was instantly mobbed.

  Raven clung to her waist clamoring for her attention. Sierra and Serena shouted for Auntie Brooklyn to fill them in on how their mommy was.

  Overwhelmed was an understatement. After the girls were sated and had their questions answered, Brook started the bedtime stories.

  While she read the girls a book about the bear that kept snoring on, she silently marvelled at the resiliency they displayed in the face of the horrors that had been heaped upon them.

  One by one the kids conked out, Brook shortly joined them.

  Chapter 30

  Outbreak Day 6

  Stanley, Idaho

  Dan travelled without the benefit of headlights to show the way. Twenty miles an hour was as fast as he dared go in the total dark.

  A few miles outside of town the reason for Stanley’s lack of electricity was evident. Dan had to slow the Dodge to a crawl in order to slip by a tangle of downed power lines near a jumble of wrecked cars.

  Movement in a compact Toyota caught Dan’s attention. He stopped Lizzie’s old car and got out to investigate. Dan used his tactical flashlight to fully illuminate the wreck. The driver’s glass was shattered, and the entire front of the vehicle was buried under the back bumper of a white Ford Excursion. It was a miracle that the accident didn’t culminate in a huge fireball, maybe, Dan thought, the truck had run out of gas first.

  The Toyotas engine block had been pushed into the passenger compartment. Even though the zombie was pinned in the driver’s seat from the lap down, the infected female still thrashed about, reaching her chalky white arms, through the shattered window in his direction.

  Dan stayed out of the zombie’s reach and walked to the rear of the car. He wiped a portal in the road grime covering the rear window so he could safely look inside.

  In a rear facing car seat, an infant arched its tiny body fighting against the restraints holding it down. Its dried lips silently opened and closed in anticipation of a meal. Slowly, the infected baby turned its head to face Dan, and stared him down with cold dead eyes. It was all too surreal; he still couldn’t believe the sight directly in front of him, even after his first encounter with the zombie in Stanley. He acted without thinking, as if on auto-pilot Dan put each of the creatures out of its misery with a bullet to the brain.

  Hell has opened up, and the rapture has begun. Dan felt hot tears trickle down his cheeks as he holstered his pistol.

  After his encounter with the undead mom and her infant, Dan was a changed man. He felt it was his duty, going forward, to put down as many of them as possible.

  Dan arrived in Arco, Idaho before dawn. It looked like a slaughterhouse in the middle of town. Dead bodies littered the streets and many more walked them.

  Dan had used all but one of his bullets mercifully killing the undead. The final round he was saving for his own exit plan. There was no way he was going to die at the hands of a demon and then return as one of them hungering for human flesh. Dan always told himself he was going out on his own terms, he fully intended to honor that promise.

  ***

  The back lot of the Food King grocery store was devoid of parked cars and much to Dan’s relief there were none of the moaning zombies roaming around. Two eighteen-wheelers were backed up to the loading dock; it looked like the warehouse crew didn’t have time to unload the trailers before the shit hit the fan.

  According to the article the illness had swept the nation with the infection rate surging exponentially day by day. Dan was hoping to avoid any more scenes like the two trapped in the car. If what he had seen so far was as widespread as the article suggested, he knew that wasn’t going to be possible.

  It was a tight fit, but Dan managed to back the four door Dodge between the two big rigs. He left himself enough room to partially open the driver’s door so he could escape if he had to.

  Dan found the cardboard dash protector that nearly every geriatric kept in their car; it was wedged under the front seat with a collapsible umbrella. It would keep out the light from the rising sun, but most importantly it would hide the inside of the car from the prying eyes of the dead, at last he felt safe enough to close his eyes. Ironically the outside of the solar shield had the words, “HELP! CALL 911,” printed in big bold red letters, and it was facing outward.

  ***

  Dan awoke with a start to something beating on the windshield; he was disoriented and wondered where the hell he was. It felt like he had closed his eyes for only a heartbeat. Suddenly he realized the predicament that he was in, wedged between two tractor trailers with the monsters from hell wanting in. “Dan. Dan. Dan,” he admonished himself. “Smooth move Ex-Lax, now what are you going to do?” The .45 caliber pistol, with the last remaining round in the chamber, was on his lap where he had left it. Hefting the weig
ht of the gun in his right hand he realized that his knuckles were whitening and the grips checkerboard pattern was biting into his palm. He placed the barrel under his fully bearded chin. You’ve got a decision to make, he thought, cowards way or...

  The thing pounded on the windshield again, more forcefully this time, it sounded like there was a rock in its fucking cadaver hands.

  “911...Do you need Police, Fire or Medical?” The male voice was followed by loud guffaws which puzzled him further, because in his mind he was convinced that at least fifty of the flesh-eaters were waiting outside his General Motors made coffin.

  More forcefully this time and minus the laughter the same voice shouted, “Take down the sun shade and keep your hands where we can see them.”

  Dan pulled the cardboard down and immediately noticed the reason for the laughter. It was the writing on the other side that they were getting a kick out of. He didn’t possess the energy to laugh even if he had wanted to. Relief washed over the Vietnam veteran when he realized that at least a Company of American soldiers were in the parking lot.

  Dan placed his pistol on the roof of the car, squeezed his frame from the vehicle and walked slowly, with his hands in the air, out of the steel canyon.

  “Do you have any wounds or bites?”

  “No sir.” Dan replied, his hands still reaching for the sky.

  “With all due respect sir, we need you to completely disrobe,” it was an order, not a request.

  Dan complied without forming any resentment. Every square inch of his body was thoroughly inspected by a latex glove wearing medic. Two soldiers kept their rifles pointed in Dan’s general direction during the entire exam.

  “Good to go sir.” The medic said to his superior. “Sorry,” he said under his breath, loud enough for only Dan to hear, “better safe than sorry.”

  “Hook up the rigs. Were Oscar Mike in ten.” the soldier in charge strode away without saying another word.

  Dan addressed the combat medic, “Where are you all headed?”