by Ricky Sides
The point man opened the door and was met by several crazed individuals who grabbed him and pulled him inside. He screamed as he disappeared from view. Other men moved to the door and once more opened it. This time, they were ready. When two of the people inside the hospital tried to attack them, they were met with a hail of bullets that slammed into their upper torsos, flinging them back through the door. Those two men rushed inside. The sound of nonstop rifle fire told Herb that more of the crazies had met them.
The rest of the men rushed inside, but then the cameraman pulled the camera back to a view of the northern entryway. Herb saw several soldiers stagger back out of the hospital. He could also hear gunfire in the background, but wasn’t sure whether it was coming from the front or the north end of the building.
The camera zoomed in on the soldiers who had fled the confines of the hospital. All three had been wounded. One man was holding the right side of his face with blood seeping between his fingers. He moved his hand away from his face and tried to eject his spent magazine from his rifle, but his hand was slick with blood, so he found it to be a difficult task. Herb stared aghast at the terrible wound on the man’s face. He could see some of the soldier’s teeth through the gaping hole that had been torn out of his flesh. He shifted his attention to the other two men and saw that one had been wounded on the neck, and the other had lost his nose and upper lip.
A man and woman wearing hospital gowns walked out the door. They saw the three soldiers and moved toward them. The man with the wounded neck had finally managed to reload his weapon. He turned his M4 toward the two civilians and opened fire. He was firing in semi auto mode. His rounds hit them both twice in the center of the chest, knocking them backwards, but they stayed on their feet.
Blood loss was weakening the soldiers. Two had already collapsed and the man who was firing at the civilians was growing weaker by the moment. He seemed to be having trouble holding up his rifle. Several more people emerged from the hospital. Two were wearing police uniforms, but they had obviously been attacked.
As the two police officers turned and walked toward the soldier, he stopped firing and shouted for them to hurry to his side. When they reached him, the two officers grabbed him and began biting the hapless soldier.
By that point, the sounds of gunfire from within the hospital had died down. The civilians and police officers at the northern entry continued their attack on the downed soldiers, ripping great chunks of flesh out of their faces and necks.
In the background, the cameraman could be heard swearing softly and retching. Herb couldn’t blame him, because as he watched the video, his own stomach was churning.
Then Herb saw something that chilled him to the core. Several of the blood spattered people left the bodies of the soldiers they had attacked and began to walk away from the hospital. He knew that whatever the disease was that had caused the people to turn into homicidal maniacs was about to spread outside the hospital. He didn’t know that patient zero, Roy Akins, had already spread the microbes well outside the containment area, nor did he know that the hosts were now located in two densely populated residential areas.
Helicopters that had transported the Special Forces unit to the site hovered overhead. One of the crewmen, armed with a rifle, shot several of the people who were attacking the bodies of the downed soldiers. As more of the zombies exited the building, gunners aboard the other two helicopters added their rifles to the battle when it became apparent to them that they were carriers of the disease as well.
The cameraman atop the parking garage saw several of the zombies looking at him. They headed in a slow shambling walk in his direction. “You’d best get your ass out of there!” an amplified voice shouted. The scene tilted to focus on one of the choppers hovering in the area. “They are coming for you! They are already in the garage! Leave now!” the same voice shouted.
The scene shifted abruptly as the cameraman got into his truck. “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but that’s all of the video we have for you at the moment. The camera was facing the cameraman’s leg as he sought to escape. However, the audio itself is dramatic, so please listen carefully. We apologize for the language you’re about to hear, but our associate was understandably under duress by this time,” explained the news anchor.
Several times, Herb heard the sounds of squealing tires. The only thing the video feed was good for was getting an idea of the ambient lighting in the garage. As the vehicle drove through alternating light conditions, the cameraman’s jeans would go from blue to almost black due to the lack of light.
As the truck maneuvered through the parking garage, the newsman could be heard alternately cursing and praying for safe delivery from his current nightmare situation. Herb heard a terrified shout from the driver, and then the sound of a thud. It sounded as if something had impacted the windshield. The driver grew silent and the sound of the engine racing even faster was all that Herb could hear for a few seconds, but then there were a series of screams and thuds. Herb assumed that the man was hitting the crazies, but wasn’t certain.
Abruptly, the lighting became much brighter. This time, it stayed constant. Herb heard the newsman muttering a prayer of thanks for his safe delivery. A loud noise drowned out the audio suddenly. The camera angle changed as the cameraman picked up his camera and aimed it at the retreating helicopters that were returning to their base. “I can’t believe they are just leaving those soldiers,” the cameraman muttered, speaking to himself.
The video ended at that point. The anchorman’s stunned features took center stage once more. “As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, the military pilots had to return to their base. We’ve made a inquiry as to why the unit was abandoned, but we were informed that there were no survivors left to rescue. When we asked how they knew that, we were informed that the information was classified, but one of our consultants suggested that the unit might have been wired to monitor their vitals. We think...”
Herb’s phone rang, so he had to mute the television to take the call.
“Sergeant Shannon here, calling for Corporal Herb Bennett.”
“Speaking,” Herb replied, sitting up straighter.
“Our unit is being activated,” the sergeant said without preamble. “You are to report to the armory as soon as possible tonight.”
“I’ll have to call and notify my boss,” Herb explained.
“I know. Handle that, but then prepare to be deployed for several days. We’ll be manning checkpoints on the bridges leading in and out of Decatur,” Sergeant Shannon informed Herb.
“The ones on the interstate?” asked Herb.
“No, we drew the ones on Highway 31,” the sergeant responded, causing Herb to grimace. He knew the crazies were much more likely to approach that set of bridges than the ones spanning the Tennessee River on Interstate 65.
Herb made the call notifying his supervisor that he was being activated for deployment in Decatur, and then he began to watch the breaking news again. This time, he concentrated on the local news.
The scenes he watched unfolding were primarily shot from the air. In several instances, pedestrians blocked traffic and attacked people who stopped their autos to avoid hitting them and then jumped out to berate them for blocking their path. Called by witnesses to deal with those emergencies, first responders were attacked by the growing crowd of zombies.
Another report showed people who were screaming and running from a movie theater. Many were pressing their hands against wounds on their arms, faces, and necks.
Still another report depicted panic shopping as people began to realize that they needed to prepare to shelter in their homes.
Without warning, the law enforcement authorities closed the bridges and roads leading into and out of the city. The news media went ballistic, demanding access to the city, and the ability to come and go at will, but the officials were adamant that no one would be permitted to enter or leave it. The Mayor pointed out that the news media was still free to utilize their heli
copters for reporting, but later that night, they changed their minds and limited flights to military and government aircraft only.
The news agencies with the capability to put crews in the air collectively ignored the orders to stay away from the city. They aired scenes of first responders, primarily police and fire department personnel, being attacked as they converged on fires at various locations around the city.
There were also scenes of looting at all of the major grocery stores. Herb was surprised to see that liquor stores were also being targeted for looting. He understood the reasoning behind the grocery stores. After all, people have to eat, but the last thing he would want to do in their position was get drunk. He felt it was insane for them to risk their lives to steal something that would lower their chances of survival. Sporting goods stores were also looted, as were gun shops.
In short, Decatur was a madhouse.
Herb had lost track of time as he watched the news. His phone rang and he once more muted the volume on his set. “Herb, where the hell are you?” asked Randy Lions.
“You’re calling my home phone and asking me that question?” he responded.
“I mean, you are supposed to be here at the armory,” Randy explained.
“I’m dressed and ready to leave. I’ve been watching the news about what’s happening in Decatur.”
“Yeah, well you’d better get your ass here soon. Sergeant Shannon is pissed because people are responding to the activation so slowly. He’s about ready to send some of us out to round up the rest.”
“Crap,” Herb said, glancing at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was already past 6 o’clock. Tell the Sergeant I’m walking out the door to leave now. I’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.”
“You’ve got it, buddy. You can watch the news here. That’s what a lot of us are doing.”
“You’d be better off spending your time preparing your weapons, if they’ll issue them tonight,” Herb countered.
“Yeah, you’re right there. I hope they do. This is some scary shit we’re about to get into, buddy.”
“I know, but we’ll have each other’s backs. I’m gone. See you in fifteen.”
Herb hung up, turned off the television, and switched off the lights on his way out. He arrived at the armory thirteen minutes later.
Randy was right about Sergeant Shannon. Herb saw that he was pissed off and ready to berate the late arrivals. “I’m surprised at you, Bennett. You’re a Corporal, not some jug headed Private. You are supposed to set an example for the lower ranks. You know damned well that rank comes with responsibility and a higher standard of expectations.”
“I’m sorry, Sergeant. I was gathering intelligence about what is happening in the city,” Herb tried to explain.
“You mean you’ve been watching the news?”
“Yes. Did you see what happened to the Special Forces guys?” Herb asked.
Sergeant Shannon glanced around to see if anyone else was standing close enough to overhear them. He nodded his head and said, “I saw it, and it’s a damned shame. I knew a couple of those men.” He looked around again before adding, “Let’s keep quiet about that unless some of the others bring it up. I don’t want our unit going into this with an unreasonable amount of fear.”
“After what I’ve been seeing on the news this afternoon, I’d say a good dose of fear might be the best thing for the guys, Sergeant. It will make them more cautious.”
“It’s most likely going to come up anyway,” Shannon said with a shrug. “You can’t keep guys from talking about shit like this.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “Get the unit together and see that they are issued their weapons. Make damned certain no one chambers a round, but I want them to draw their magazines from the armorer and load them. We’ll be assigning armed guards tonight.”
“You’ve got it, Sergeant,” Herb replied.
“This shit is about to get real for us, Corporal. Make sure the men understand the need to properly inspect their weapons and gear, because their lives may depend upon them functioning properly in the very near future.”
Chapter 2
Quarantine
Corporal Herb Bennett of the Alabama National Guard stood beside his best friend, Private Randy Lions. They were guarding the south end of one of the bridges that spanned the Tennessee River on Highway 31, just outside Decatur, Alabama. The two friends were watching the smoke from numerous fires rise above the city. In the distance, they heard the sounds of intermittent gunfire.
“This is a bad situation,” grouched Randy. “We’re too close to the city here. God, man, just look at all of the places a sniper could hide to take shots at us.”
Herb knew that his friend was right. Just across the bridge were dozens of businesses that lined both sides of the highway, any of which could conceal armed men bent on attacking their position. “Yeah, it sucks, but you know why we have to set up here. We can’t back off to the other end without permitting the people here to have access to the boat harbor behind us. If they reach it, there’ll be no way to contain the spread of whatever it is these people have. If they reached those boats, they could go up or down the river and end up God knows where.”
The Decatur Boat Harbor was situated north of their position, on the west side of the southbound lane of Highway 31.
“I know you’re right, but I don’t like it,” Randy responded. “This shit is going to get hairy here once the people in the city learn they can’t get out by the other routes leading out of the city.”
“Heads up, men!” shouted Sergeant Shannon. “Here they come!”
In the distance, Herb saw a large crowd of men and women approaching the barricade on foot. When they closed to within a hundred feet of the barricades, someone shouted for them to halt.
The crowd stopped as they had been instructed. “You people need to return to your homes. Decatur is under official quarantine. You can’t leave the city,” one of the Guard officers said through a bullhorn.
A large man with a beard made his way to the front of the group of civilians. He shouted at the guardsmen that they couldn’t force the people to stay in the city and wait in their homes to be murdered by the insane people who had contracted the disease.
Several of the other people, encouraged by the words of the bearded man, voiced their support for his sentiments.
Sergeant Shannon made his way along the line of guardsmen manning the barricade. “Be ready to fall back if this goes bad,” he said quietly to each man of the team before moving on to the next.
“We’re coming through! You men are going to have to decide if you are going to kill innocent men and women!” shouted the man with the beard. He motioned for the others to follow him, and then he strode forward purposefully.
“Fire the teargas canisters.” Sergeant Shannon ordered.
Two men, armed with grenade launchers, fired the teargas canisters into the approaching crowd as rapidly as they could, until the sergeant ordered them to cease fire. The crowd that had been advancing on the blockade was now engulfed in the noxious gas. Herb could hear people retching and coughing. Several of them were shouting fearfully.
“Prepare to fire, if they charge!” shouted Sergeant Shannon.
Herb and Randy exchanged worried glances, but they followed the order. Both men brought their rifles to their shoulders and disengaged their safeties.
The shouting of the civilians had died down, and for a moment, Herb hoped that they had turned back, but then the throng of men and women surged out of the dissipating teargas.
“Remember, fire over their heads!” Sergeant Shannon shouted. “Fire!”
Herb aimed several feet over the heads of the charging civilians and fired his M4 three times as rapidly as he could pull the trigger. The crowd reacted to the volley of rifle fire in a predictable manner. They panicked, turned, and sought to escape. When the field of view in front of the blockade was clear of the obscuring teargas, the Guardsmen saw that the civilians had fled the area.
Two hours later, the guardsmen had their first encounter with a small group of the zombies. Three men, covered in blood, came shambling along the road heading for Herb’s blockade. All three of them had been attacked by zombies and had been transformed as a result.
“How the hell could anyone survive wounds like that?” asked Randy.
“They couldn’t,” Herb responded as he stared aghast at the exposed bones in the neck of one of the men. Another was missing his nose and a good portion of the right side of his face. The third looked as if someone had used him for target practice with a bow. An arrow protruded from his chest. Randy assumed that the man had been shot by someone he was attacking.
“They are carriers of the disease,” Sergeant Shannon said, breaking the silence and snapping the guardsmen out of their stunned surprise. “Take them out.”
The men needed no further encouragement. While they were still 150 feet away, they opened fire on the three zombies. The bodies of the zombies did a macabre dance as the 5.56 mm rounds from the M4s of the guardsmen riddled their torsos.
“Why the hell won’t they go down?!” Randy shouted as he fired again and again.
Herb was unnerved by the squad’s inability to drop the three zombies. He remembered the numerous movies that he had seen and raised his point of aim to center on the head of one of the approaching creatures. He had to wait for the moving target to stabilize, but when it did, he fired a round into its forehead and dropped the zombie in its tracks.
“Go for their heads,” Herb instructed Randy as he shifted his rifle to cover one of the others. Randy managed to get his shot first, but Herb fired only a second later. Both targets were terminated.
“Oh God,” one of the guardsmen said. “I shot that guy six times. I think we need better weapons.”
“Reload your weapons, guys.” Herb instructed the men near him. “We don’t want to face another charge with partial magazines.”
The men went through the process of reloading their weapons in silence. All of the members of the squad were shaken by the incident. It was the first time that any of them had ever fired at another person, and as far as most of them were concerned, they had just butchered their targets.