The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade

by Demers, J. D.

  No one answered. Not even Coleman, who barely knew Fish. The intimidation was blistering.

  Fish picked up a small stick and absently drew circles in the dirt.

  “See, before…all this,” he said, making a grand wave with one hand, “the world was already a shit hole. You guys just didn’t know it yet.”

  He drove the wood deeper into the ground.

  “I was on that hilltop, watching. When I saw the missionaries—who, by the way, had been decapitated—I called off the mission. I had done what I was supposed to do, and was getting ready to evacuate. But…the screams coming from the village. I couldn’t turn away.”

  Fish’s peered at us each in turn.

  “I brought my rifle up and scoped out the village. They were shooting everyone. Dragging men and boys into the center, popping them in the chest and stomach. No clean deaths, no…they wanted these people to suffer.”

  He glanced at Luke.

  “Like Nomad said…it wasn’t our war.”

  Fish rolled the stick in his hand absently as he relived the story.

  “Then, they dragged out this woman by her hair. In her arms, she clutched her child. The baby couldn’t have been older than a few months. I froze. A fire stirred in my chest, threatening to explode as I watched.”

  “One of the bastards ripped the child away from her and strung it up to a post by its feet. I couldn’t stand by anymore without doing something. I called Command. Asked for permission for limited engagement. I just wanted to kill the ones that were about to…”

  He stopped and grimaced.

  “Nope. Command told me to stand down and report to the extraction point.”

  “When I looked back into the village, the baby was screaming, wiggling frantically. The ‘Revolutionaries’ just ignored it. One of the men began raping the woman. She fought and clawed to reach her child, ignoring what they were doing to her as if it was a minor inconvenience to what was really important. Her child.”

  “When the man was done, he took out a butcher knife and waved it at the woman, laughing and taunting her. He grabbed her breast and sawed it off like a piece of beef. I was a hundred yards away, but it felt like she was right there, screaming in my ear.”

  “I called Command back. They reminded me of my orders.”

  “The bastard stood there, shaking her breast above his head. Then, he threw it at the baby. Two of them lifted her up as he walked over to the child. I…” Fish paused, swallowing hard. “I didn’t think men could be this evil.”

  Fish hesitated a moment. Pain racked his face as he stared past us into the night. He swallowed, and turned his haunting gaze to Luke.

  “He gutted the baby as the mother watched. They let her go and waited until she grabbed her child. Then, they shot her in the back of the head.”

  “My god…” I whispered.

  “God?” Fish chuckled coldly. “Trust me kid, God wasn’t there. But I was,” he said, just as he snapped the stick in half.

  “Hate…like I have never felt, boiled up in me. My vision was skewered by red. My eyes burned. I shot the man holding the knife. Then moved, and took out his two friends before they knew what hit them.”

  “I decided then and there, every single monster down in that village was going to die that day. I radioed back, told Command I was engaged, and shut off the transmitter. I didn’t care anymore. Back then, I didn’t have a wife or son. I didn’t care about going home. All I cared about was what was in front of me…of killing every fucking bastard down there.”

  “My first three shots were masked by the other gunfire in the village. None of the other revolutionaries saw or noticed. They had come in three trucks, piled in the back like sardines. I repositioned myself and took a shot at each engine block. By the time that was done, they found the bodies. Confused, they started to look around. Slowly I began picking them off one by one.”

  “Some got smart, took cover. Others started to go into the tree line. It didn’t matter. They weren’t going to find me.”

  “Twenty minutes later, only five were left. Most I had killed as they tried to flee to their trucks. One actually started, but I took out the driver before he could put it into gear. The five survivors ran off into the jungle with their tails between their legs.”

  “So, five of them got away?” Coleman asked.

  Fish just glared at the man for a moment, and turned back to the two sticks in his hands.

  “I followed them. Stalked them like prey. By the time I was done, only one was left. He was just a kid. Maybe fourteen years old. See, the revolutionaries used children. Got them addicted to Khat to get their adrenaline running.”

  “What’s Khat?” Jenna asked.

  “A weed they chew,” Luke explained. “Has the same effects as cocaine, but much more addictive.”

  “What did you do with the last one?” I asked Fish.

  “I cut his balls off,” Fish’s voice was hard, “and stuffed them into his mouth. Suffocated him and hung him from a tree. After that, I carved ‘Imana Urubozo’ into his forehead and left him for the crows.”

  “What does that mean?” Coleman asked.

  “God of Death,” Luke muttered.

  “The Reaper…” I whispered.

  “Yep,” Fish said. He shook the images from his memory, returning back to his normal self. “Command had a field day trying to bury that report. I spent the next day helping the villagers out. Not sure what happened after my extraction. Thought they were going to court-martial me.”

  “Guessing they didn’t,” Coleman grinned.

  “Nope. They actually gave me a medal,” Fish grumbled. “I tried to turn it down, but it doesn’t work that way.”

  “You did the right thing,” Jenna told Fish solemnly.

  “De Oppresso Liber,” Luke whispered.

  “Heh, yeah,” Fish agreed. “De Oppresso Liber.”

  Fish left us to our thoughts and conversation dwindled. We managed some halfhearted small talk, but soon broke for the evening. Jenna and I took Boomer for a walk around the motor pool before we went to bed.

  “That was a pretty wicked story about Fish,” she said as we strolled past the MRAP.

  “Yeah,” I shook my head. “Child soldiers. I wonder how many there were.”

  “Does it matter?” Jenna said in surprise. “They were murdering people.”

  “I know. But I think it mattered to Fish. Or at least, maybe it did. Killing kids just…well, even if it’s right…”

  I trailed off. I guess it didn’t matter anymore.

  “I know one thing,” Jenna said with a slight giggle, “I never want to be on the end of the Reaper’s wrath.”

  Nor do I, I thought to myself.

  CHAPTER 12

  Lake City

  August 14th Mid-Afternoon

  Morning came and we left the storage center. By noon, we had made it past Fort White and were nearing the refugee camp. We were blessed with free skies without so much as a hint of clouds on the horizon. It was hot and muggy, but preferable to weather the zombies enjoyed.

  The camp itself was based at Columbia High School. According to Jodi, even though the area was large, the sheer number of refugees caused the camp to expand well beyond the high school’s boundaries. That, of course, is what led to its demise.

  The trip was relatively quick, though we did run across quite a few groups of zombies. Some were just scattered pockets, but a couple numbered over a hundred. It was nothing for Big Red, though, which easily cleared a path for our vehicles.

  Boomer and I were in the F350 pulling up the rear. Burghardt and Jodi rode in the back with us while Coleman drove in the front with Fish and Luke. We had a separate mission.

  When we reached the refugee camp, Big Red was going to proceed alone, gather as many zombies as it could, and drive off. Even though the Stryker had better armor, it was not fortified like Big Red. With the modifications to the fire truck, the theory was that zombies would be unable to climb on top of it. The crew DJ had w
ere armed not only with their weapons, but most of our make-shift flame throwers and Molotov cocktails.

  The Stryker, which housed Campbell and the ‘truck drivers’, were to hit the POL and cargo trucks afterward and clear out whatever stragglers were there. They were to hold the area until we met up with them.

  Our mission was more delicate and was the reason Fish wanted me and, more importantly, Boomer to go with them. We had to penetrate Columbia High School’s main building. Inside were the keys to all the vehicles. Though I was sure we could find a way to start most of them, keys were always a better option. I knew most military vehicles did not need keys, but according to Jodi, there were quite a few requisitioned civilian cargo trucks.

  Jodi had told us that each vehicle key was marked. Aligning the keys with the trucks shouldn’t be an issue. There was also a large amount of supplies that were stored in the auditorium. Colonel Muller decided to keep a decent reserve near the C&C, or the Command and Control.

  We had no idea how many zombies were in there, or if scabs had taken over the place. I considered it to be the most dangerous part of our mission. Maybe that was because I would be going inside the school.

  Around one o’clock in the afternoon, we stopped. Burghardt informed us we were only a couple miles from the refugee camp.

  Pittman and others began to sweep the general area, eliminating a dozen zombies who were nearby.

  Campbell met with Fish, DJ, Jodi, Burghardt and Luke to determine our next course of action.

  After I took Boomer for a brief walk, I met up with Pittman at the F350. He and a few other locals were constructing a cage from fencing that we brought.

  “So, this zed-shoe thing really works?” Pittman asked Colman as they twisted heavy wiring around the poles.

  “Yep,” he replied. “Just attach it to the front of the truck and push it over the doorway. The Zeds come out, fill it up, and you can easily dispatch them.”

  It was an ingenious idea. By crafting heavy fencing into a horseshoe shape and fixing it to the front of a vehicle, you could drive it up to an open doorway and let the zombies fill it up. One or two people could stand on the hood and bash in the heads of the dead that crowd around it.

  There was the chance that they could climb over, but it always took time for zombies to figure that out.

  “Hope so,” Pittman muttered.

  “Bah, we’ll do okay. I’m more worried about you guys holding the baseball fields,” Coleman said.

  “If Big Red does its job, we’ll be fine.” Pitman helped lower the ‘zed-shoe’, as Coleman’s people called it, to the ground.

  Others were taking off the cow catcher from the front of Jenna’s truck and putting it into the bed. DJ had reinforced the truck’s frame months before, which would allow the zed-shoe to easily connect to the chassis.

  “It looks…different,” I said as I approached the truck.

  “It works great,” Coleman stated. “Of course, it probably won’t hold if there are more than a hundred trying to pile into it but, for the most part, it is good for drawing them out of buildings.”

  “Okay, girls,” Fish grumbled as he walked away from his meeting with Campbell. “How much longer until you get this ridiculous thing attached?”

  “Twenty minutes,” Coleman grunted as he and three others carried the zed-shoe to the front end of the truck.

  Fish nodded and turned to Pittman.

  “Campbell is running the show at the baseball fields,” he told him. “But you’re in charge of the guard. We don’t know these yahoos for nothing, so don’t let them do anything stupid like getting themselves killed.”

  “They’re some of the best we have,” Luke pointed out as he came from behind Fish.

  Fish partially turned toward the man.

  “Yeah, well, that’s not saying much.”

  “Have a little faith, Reaper,” Luke grinned. “I’ve had them under my wing for some time. Burghardt, too. He’s pretty good.”

  “For a cook,” Fish griped.

  “For any soldier,” Luke countered. “Be a little more optimistic.”

  “I tell you what, Nomad. When the pogue earns my respect, I’ll be the first to let you know.”

  “Give them a break. Most of these people were sitting at desks or standing behind counters when the ball dropped.”

  “Thanks for making me feel better,” Fish said mockingly.

  Luke grimaced and turned to me.

  “I hope that dog of yours is as good as they say.”

  “Don’t worry. He’s better,” I said, handing Boomer a piece of jerky.

  “Don’t let the rest of them see you do that,” Pittman joked. “They may try and take his treats away.”

  “No need,” Fish said. “Captain brought some extra rations. We’re going to fatten everyone up before we leave. He doesn’t want them low on energy.”

  “Our rations?” Pittman asked, surprised. “Does the Major know?”

  “The Major isn’t here,” Fish countered. “Besides, do you want half-dead people having your back? Rations won’t mean squat if we all die because people are too weak to lift their weapons.”

  “Feeding them for one day won’t make much of a difference,” Pittman argued.

  “Doesn’t have to be one day,” Fish retorted. “Just this day. I’d rather lose a day’s rations than fail here. We fail, we’ll probably die.”

  Pittman nodded reluctantly. “Whatever you say, Fish.”

  Enrique and Campbell began handing out packs of MREs. The look of awe on the survivors’ faces was worth it. Not to mention, Fish was right. They didn’t just seem to be more energetic after they ate, but their morale had been raised a couple of notches. Anyone will tell you, morale can be the deciding factor in any battle.

  Within an hour, Big Red and her crew prepared to leave. Campbell flew a fresh drone ahead to scout for the fire truck.

  I watched the video feed as DJ drove off toward the high school.

  The video showed the area around the school. Sporadic housing was mishmash with withered tents in front and back yards. Most had been torn or destroyed. Trash and debris were scattered across streets and lawns. Remnants of the ten thousand refugees could be seen everywhere.

  And then there were the zombie signs. Woods were thinned, showing that zombies had fed off the vegetation. Some yards were nothing but dirt. Bushes that should have been in full summer foliage were as bare as if it were the dead of winter.

  The blaring sun kept most of the zombies hidden, though gaggles would leave the shade of the woods and buildings as Big Red lumbered by at ten miles an hour. None could catch the fire engine. Occasionally, DJ would stop the truck and allow the growing mass to catch up, then resume its agonizingly slow pace.

  By the time Big Red reached the high school grounds, it was towing at least five hundred walking corpses.

  “Looks like you guys have done this before,” Burghardt stated as he watched the laptop over my shoulder.

  “Yeah,” Fish responded. “We kinda perfected it over the few months we were at Camp Holly, especially the last few weeks.”

  “Except there, we had about three hundred thousand Zulus to worry about,” Pittman added.

  “So, this should be a piece of cake,” Jodi remarked snidely.

  Fish let out a grunt. “Lady, it’s never a ‘piece of cake’.”

  Occasionally, we would hear Pittman’s suppressed M4 rattle as he shot a zombie coming too close to the Stryker or F350. That was reassuring, because I kind of felt like we were sitting ducks while waiting on Big Red to finish its mission. None of the other people were allowed to use unsuppressed weapons, which only left the few we had to kill zombies coming too close to our vehicles.

  “Dammit,” Fish cursed.

  The video feed from the drone showed the school. No less than a thousand zombies were crowded around the buildings and nearby woods. Not only the noise of Big Red but also the five hundred zombies following the fire engine seemed to attract the dead in
droves.

  “Captain, you seeing this?” DJ asked over the comms.

  Campbell pressed the transmit button.

  “Roger that, DJ. You guys still good?”

  “Yes sir. We’re going to do a close pass by the baseball diamonds and then loop around the school. After that, we’re heading up Main Street and hopefully take most of these bastards with us.”

  “Ten-four,” Campbell replied. “Slow down so I can change out the birds.”

  “Roger, Captain,” DJ replied.

  Eagle One returned from its recon to recharge. Eagle Two was deployed to continue scouting the high school campus in more detail. Big Red seemed like a toy truck in the video and the zombies, who were quickly growing in number, appeared to be ants meandering after it.

  The baseball diamonds had numerous trucks, from military to civilian cargo vehicles parked inside the fencing. Some of the fencing had been knocked down. Small groups of zombies seemed to be trapped by parked vehicles or downed railings.

  “Take note, Pittman,” Campbell warned. “We’ll want to get those first.”

  “Roger, sir.”

  DJ drove the fire truck in an arc around the school. Hundreds of zombies began to lumber toward it, as if pulled by a magnet. More tents and vehicles were packed along the eastern side where the soccer field was located, along with the north side and stadium of the football field. Open areas to the north and west were also filled with flapping tarps and makeshift huts made of anything the late refugees could scrounge to make shelter.

  I saw why the refugee center fell. How could you keep track of everyone and know they were not infected? Four hundred soldiers could barely control the school itself, let alone the rest of the campus and the surrounding rural neighborhoods. We had seen tents and rubbish as far out as a mile from the school.

  “You sure your plan is going to work?” Campbell asked Fish.

  “Nope,” he replied, standing and adjusting his gear, “but we’ll improvise.”

  Campbell gave a slight chuckled, and then turned serious.

  “Alright everyone, mount up. We jump in five.”

  Team Bravo loaded up in the Stryker. Pittman stayed on top with one of the people from the storage center. Luke, Fish, Burghardt, Coleman, Jodi and I all moved to the F350. The truck looked awkward with the U-shaped fence on the front.