Zombie Airman

by Guenther, David

  ZOMBIE AIRMAN

  DAVID GUENTHER

  Zombie Airman

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by David E. Guenther

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, July 2018

  Prologue

  Some would refer back to the pandemic that broke out on the night before Sunday, April 1, 2029 as the “Joke Apocalypse.” Everyone thought it was an elaborate joke along the lines of the Martian invasion by Orson Welles in 1938. Few believed it was actually happening even as it unfolded in front of them. Most survivors erroneously called it the Zombie Apocalypse, or just the Apocalypse. There was much speculation on the cause of the pandemic, but only a few knew the real origin. Those that survived the long night could never imagine the new world ahead of them.

  Peterson AFB, Colorado. April 1, 2029

  Major General William “Willy Pete” Peters awoke to banging in the bathroom. It took him a moment to clear his head as he tried to focus on the clock radio next to his bed. The digital clock showed 1:42. He came fully awake when he remembered he was still in the Spanish House, Distinguished Visitors Quarters on Peterson AFB. He was TDY there for an ORI (Operational Readiness Inspection) that had ended the day before. The general’s wife was still back on the east coast with her cats, refusing to accompany him on any trips. The banging got louder as he remembered the “friend” he had made who wanted to see the historic Spanish House. Amazingly, she knew where everything was in the little one-room house, including the bar. The night was a blur for him now with the only important thing being, to get the crazy woman the hell out of his quarters. He tried to open the bathroom door but the woman was pressing it closed as she continued to pound on it. Once she heard him trying to open the door she began to shriek non-stop. Panicked, Peters finally managed to shove the door open, forcing her to fall backwards into the bathtub. She only had a bra on as she fought her way out of the tub before lunging at him, still shrieking at the top of her lungs. She grabbed him forcibly by the shoulders, and then tried to sink her teeth into his throat. The 55-year-old general was in shock as he fought the twenty-something blonde. He could not get a good swing at her or even kick at her legs. In desperation, he let himself fall backwards and brought up his right leg, flipping her over him towards the bedroom down the hall. She quickly got to her feet as he turned to run to the living room, and then out the front door. He only made it to the small sofa facing the fire before she tackled him, sending him flying over the sofa and into the still smoldering fireplace. She landed behind the sofa. He flashed back to earlier in the night as he made love to the woman in front of the fireplace. Her shrieking quickly brought him back to the present as she effortlessly jumped over the sofa at him. He felt the fireplace poker in his hand, swinging it in desperation without thinking. He was rewarded with a loud smack as it connected with her left temple, dropping her instantly. In shock, he dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse without any luck. Well, I guess that would explain that as he looked where the poker’s two-inch hook was embedded into her skull. He turned from her and puked into the hot embers of the fireplace. Shit, shit, shit, this crazy bitch just got me my last assignment, Leavenworth ‘Bang me up the ass’ Prison.

  As he sat there stunned, he was startled by the sound of weapons fire coming from the street. Then even more from a variety of locations, both nearby and in the distance. Great time for a terrorist attack! He ignored the body as he ran to the bedroom to don his uniform and grab his weapon.

  I’d better make it to the command center, it’ll be safest there. Peters opened the front door and peeked out; it was once again quiet outside. He stepped out into the small porch, thankful of the decorative wrought iron gate’s extra security. Unzipping his leather flight jacket with his left hand, he shoved his M18 automatic into its custom pocket he’d had made long ago on a deployment to Incirlik AB, Turkey. He turned and locked the heavy wood door before heading for his rental car. He started to push the wrought iron gate open when it was slammed back shut at the same time he heard the shriek from the man before him. Peters jerked back, away from the arm that was now desperately reaching through the gate at him. In the porch light he saw the face of the man shrieking and grabbing at him. His eyes looked black with the pupils fully dilated, wide open and looked like they were going to pop out of his skull in their intensity. His mouth, nose and chin, covered in blood that leaked down over the front of his OCPs (Operational Camouflage Pattern Uniform). His chest tab had the brown bar of a second lieutenant sewn on them. His left shoulder had a large hole where he’d been shot.

  “Damn it, Lieutenant, pull yourself together!” Peters shouted. The man before him only became more agitated, shrieking louder. Peters saw two more airmen running towards his gate. His initial relief turned to horror as the two women joined the lieutenant in trying to get at him. Both women, covered in blood, shrieked in unison with the lieutenant. One wore OCPs complete with the blue beret of a security forces specialist, her sidearm still in its holster. On her shoulder, a radio blared asking for status with only a few replies. The last woman, wearing only part of her dress blue uniform, was totally saturated in blood from her face all the way to her knees.

  “Oh, hell no!” Peters shouted back at their shrieking as he jabbed the key back in the door, quickly locking it behind him. He ran for the phone in the bedroom. There was no dial tone as he picked up the handset. Really! He threw the phone down as he tore at his bag until he found his satellite phone. Dialing the command center’s number from memory, the sudden quietness, outside startled him. There was no more shrieking or pounding.

  “Space Command Operations Center, TSgt (Technical Sergeant) Kim” blared from the sat phone.

  “This is Major General Peters, Vice Commander, Space Command. I’m trapped in billeting at the Spanish House. I have three people trying to break in. Contact security forces; inform them I also numerous heard gunshots!” Peters felt he sounded calm and profession.

  “Sir, the entire base is under attack; I recommend you shelter in place if they are not able to get in. I’m notifying security forces of your status now.” What the hell? Did that asshole just hang up on me! Furious, Peters tore back into his bag until he found his second magazine for his M18. Stuffing it into the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out his M18, angrier at the sergeant on the phone than he was afraid of attackers at his door. He checked the loaded chamber indicator on the top center of the slide by the breech. Thumbing the safety to fire, he took a moment to stuff the sat phone into his jacket’s inside pocket.

  At the front door, he looked out the peephole to make sure they had not broken through the wrought iron gate. Relieved, he quietly opened the door and proceeded slowly to the gate. Farther out, by the street, he could see his earlier attackers hunched over a body. Peters shuddered involuntarily before running to his rental car. Clicking the fob in his hand, the alarm chirped once as the car unlocked and the headlights flashed. Two of the attackers were already racing towards him as he opened the driver’s side door. Diving inside, he quickly locked the doors, he jammed the key into the ignition switch and was relieved when it started immediately. Shifting into reverse, he was surprised by another attacker that ran full steam into the driver’s door a second before the previous attackers slammed into the passenger side doors. The new atta
cker was smashing his head into the window. Peters raised his left hand and flipped him the bird. “Fuck you! Elvis has left the building!” He shifted into drive and floored the sedan the same time the driver’s window started to form spider cracks. “Ha ha ha ha!” Peters shouted as the attackers tried to chase after him.

  The sound of gunfire was getting louder as he neared the Space Command building. He bailed from the sedan a few yards from the buildings door, running all out, the sound of gunfire and shrieks getting louder behind him.

  “Son of a bitch!” he shouted, realizing he’d have to reach into the ankle pocket of his flightsuit to get his common access card (CAC) to open the door. Out of breath, he reached down as the door flew open, a Master Sergeant (MSgt) shouted, “Down!” Peters fell to his chest as the MSgt rapidly fired two shots. Peters felt hot liquid spray onto the back of his neck and head the same time a woman’s body fell on him and rolled off. “Move your ass or I’ll leave you out there!”

  Peters got to his feet, his ears ringing from the gunshots. “Move your ass, I said!” Peters saw red before he heard the echoing footsteps on the pavement behind him. He ran for the door, not looking back. The MSgt managed to shut it as two assailants smashed into the glass.

  “No worries, sir. The door will hold.” Peters bent over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. The MSgt noticed for the first time he had a two-star general in front of him. Peters looked back out the glass door and saw the body that had fallen on him and felt weak in the knees. The dead woman’s body was bigger than his own and looked like she’d been a weight lifter.

  “Uh, good work MSgt…”

  “MacDonlds, sir, MSgt MacDonalds.”

  Peters felt a bit off and shaky, quickly turning instead to euphoria. “Can I get an order of fries with that save, MacDonalds?” He laughed at his own joke before continuing. “Can you tell me why I’ve been attacked three times in the last hour, MSgt?”

  “Sir, we were ordered by the command post to lock down the same time the first attacks commenced. It’s been a tossup between judgment day and a zombie apocalypse. Please continue into the building, sir. Our friends out there have a short attention span, and will move on if they don’t see us in here.” Peters shrugged and headed for operations. The MSgt ducked into a doorway, and then proceeded to remove his magazine, hands beginning to shake, as he reloaded.

  The normally polished floors had long streaks and reddish black puddles. It took Peters a moment to realize they were puddles of blood and the streaks were blood trails from bodies being dragged off. He bent over to grab his wallet from his ankle pocket, and then retrieved his CAC. He slid the magnetic strip through the reader and let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he heard the loud click of the electronic deadbolt opening.

  The operations room was a shambles; numerous monitors broken or knocked over and there was the distinct smell of blood, bad meat, and loosened bowels, mixed with the smell of ozone and burned gunpowder. Damn, did I just enter hell?

  “Sweet Jesus! You’re alive, Willy Pete!” Peters looked across the room to see General Tullos, head of Space Command, sitting in an office chair while a pair of sergeants attended to a wounded arm. Even for a Friday night there were obviously not enough personnel to man the operation center, he noted.

  “Sir, what the hell is going on? He began to walk towards the general, then noticed the bodies scattered around the room. What the fuck?

  “Willy Pete, my money goes on the end of the world. We’ve been monitoring this shit from its beginning in Japan, then across China, Russia, Europe, skipping across the ocean and starting up on our east coast all the way down to the tip of South America. Like one giant wave. The news stations are going crazy. No damn warning at all then BOOM!” Tullos looked down at the sergeants, “Thanks, I think I’ll live, better get back to your duties.” He crooked his finger for Peters to join him. He sat down next to the general, and then the story continued.

  “The pandemic followed the setting sun. As cities became dark the infection initially seemed to be spread through the air. Rough guess are seventy-five to eighty percent of folks were infected. They in turn spread it further by bodily fluids. This has been from pole to pole. The only break so far is that the infected are staying out of the sunlight. Every city seems to have had some partial recovery, but average population is about five percent of what it had been.” Tullos took a swig of water and handed a fresh bottle to Peters.

  “We’ve lost all communications with our chain of command. The White House evacuated aboard Air Force One. We picked up some cockpit chatter before the plane crashed over Pennsylvania, it augured in, no chance of survivors. Same thing happening here is at every headquarters in the chain. We’ve been unable to get in contact with any level of the National Command Authority. The best we were able to do here was activate the Alternate Command Center in Cheyenne Mountain.” Tullos looked like it took great effort to raise his arm to point to a monitor. The picture on the screen was tinted pink. In the background of the display could be seen a female Canadian officer in a flightsuit with her mouth buried in the stomach of an airman lying across a computer console. “We activated the mountain and they ran their checklist and locked down against all threats, nuclear, biological, and chemical. (NBC) They were infected the same timeline as us, just that they could not run from the infected, we believe they are one hundred percent infected. NORAD, USNORTHCOM, all are not transmitting.”

  Peters and the rest of the people in the room jumped as three NCOs burst through the door, quickly slamming it shut. Two were carrying decorative guidon poles with the flags torn off, effectively making them into spears. Both had bloody tips. The third NCO carried the handle from a paper trimmer, now a deadly machete, covered in blood. “Sir, we were able to get the supplies you requested, we left them in the loading area. We just need transportation out of here. We lost Chief Aoki and Capt. Morita when we were gathering the special material you wanted. That’s all here in the briefcase. I didn’t get a chance to set the code so it’s 000. We also lost our last pistol. After Chief Aoki was out of ammo, he buried it in the head of a zombie that was attacking me.” The sergeant held up his arm, showing a bloody bite mark on his forearm.

  “Good job, men. Go get yourself some water and take a break, treat that wound before it becomes infected.” Tullos looked older than his fifty-eight years as he turned to Peters. “Willy Pete, I have a mission for you. I’m implementing Operation Phoenix, with the resources we have here, you will take all unwounded personnel, and any you find, and get the hell off this base while you can. You will head for Douglas City, Wyoming. There you will set up operations, assume command of all military units, regardless of service, available to you. If you find a unit with a senior commander to you, you will put yourself and your operation under their command to the best of your ability. You will align your command under the National Command Authority. If unable to do that, you will establish a base of operations to clear out the infected to the best of your ability, per my verbal orders.” The general handed Peters the bloody briefcase the sergeant had handed him earlier.” “In this case you will find the codes and instructions for all our space-based assets along with portable drives with the necessary data. Looks like you are now the Commander of Space Command.”

  “Sir, Operation Phoenix was a joke. It was an excuse for me to go fly-fishing in Wyoming, and visit my kids from my first marriage. I didn’t think we’d ever have to start over on a clean slate.” Peters argued back.

  “Willy Pete, I want to see your hairy ass off my base in one hour. Try to save as many of our troops as possible. Now, the correct response from you will be…” The general shook for a minute as though he was having an epileptic seizure. He then sat quietly for a minute with his eyes closed. When he opened his eyes, the pupils were fully dilated, none of his blue iris was any longer visible. He started to drool while looking off into the space.

  “General Tullos?” Peters asked nervously. He reached his hand ou
t to shake the general’s shoulder. Tullos shrieked, opening his mouth to bite at the hand. A silver-tipped guidon pole slammed into his mouth, breaking teeth as it continued out the back of his skull, pinning him to the chair. The general just seemed to wilt before he lost control of his body.

  An airman stood before General Peters, pulling the guidon pole out of Tullos’ mouth. “Sir, he ordered me to stay by him for when this happened. He knew he only had hours left and didn’t want to hurt anyone. Do you have any orders, sir?”

  Peters choked back the urge to puke as well as the tears for his dear old friend and mentor. “Listen up everybody, for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Major General Peters, I was Vice Commander of Space Command. I’m now assuming command. In two hours we will abandon our position here with the exception of those who have been wounded and possibly infected. Those personnel will man their stations until they turn. The rest of us will find transportation, and transfer those supplies in the loading bay to an aircraft and depart for a destination in Wyoming to set up operations again. Chief McMullen, detail people to call the CP (command post), MOC (maintenance operations Center), transportation, the armory, and anyone else you can think of. I want the word spread we are evacuating the base. We will all meet at base ops to find aircraft for the evacuation at 0400 hrs. I want you all to understand why it’s vital to evacuate to the Wyoming location. The whole damn world will turn to shit in the next few days. Large population centers will be the worst. Our evacuation location has a small local population, the ability to produce fuel and has solar panels as part of their local power grid. That’s just a few of the reasons. So, let’s move people!”

  “Sir, I’m Airman First Class (A1C) Bernadette Fowler. I have a question.”

  “Go ahead, Airman Fowler.”

  “What about our dependents? Can we take them with us for the evacuation?”