There was a time when his concerns would have been more about the morality of arming doctors with firearms. He’d moved way past that. Paul’s concern right now? He wasn’t sure he could draw and fire fast enough if one of those things stormed shrieking into his clinic…
There were several hundred wounded or injured patients scattered through the larger structures that comprised the Smith Plantation. In the outbuildings were more patients lying on mats or sleeping bags on the floor, propped up in the corners or moaning quietly as the drugs kicked in.
Rabinowitz had lost two patients tonight and the night wasn’t over yet. Heavy power tools, firearms all over the place and hundreds of men and women working in the dark to make the river line defensible. Dreadful what a chainsaw could do to an attractive and fit young woman…and the bullet wounds – didn’t anyone know there was a safety on their weapon?
Once the actual fighting started he began to receive the friendly fire casualties – all the night vision equipment in the world didn’t keep night fighting from being a very dangerous undertaking. Besides, the night vision gear was competing with the spotlights positioned to cover expected fields of fire. It was audio visual chaos.
As a doctor – he wasn’t used to all this…it was a new and dreadful experience with no foreseeable expiration date.
To make it just perfect, Paul was frightened, more frightened than he’d ever imagined a man could be; worse, the sounds of this nightmarish battle seemed to be coming closer. The howling was growing louder, enough to freeze a man’s blood till his veins seemed filled with an ecstasy of icy bubbles.
Sometimes the screams were different – screams of people in agony as they were ripped apart, or the utter despair of those who survived the deadly bite - knowing their dark future was coming sooner rather than later. Often followed by a single shot – swallowed up in the cacophony of shots and bangs and shrieks.
Over all of it – a constant rattle of gunfire assaulting the senses; an ebb and flow of staccato sound that told the story of the battle.
The wounded and injured at Smith Plantation were tuned into the same channel. They found that anxiety and fear seemed to exacerbate their pain. Could there be enough morphine for that kind of pain? That seemed to Paul like a smack in the face but everything was so freakishly wrong in the dark, tonight, in Roswell!
Dr. Rabinowitz wouldn’t let his fear rule him. He’d had the Armed Citizen training that was mandatory in Georgia after the events of early 2006 and now he was glad of it – however little he seemed to remember of it now – what he did remember was that they’d made him an officer in the Georgia State Defense Force. Like so many Americans before him – he took his training, upgraded his skills in his field, but ultimately, he didn’t progress into his rank; he became an officer.
Somewhat to his surprise – Paul had found some very personal satisfaction in being part of something this big – fighting to save the world – that’s the big one after all! Or at least this part of it – his very own Roswell. He’d also learned a certain dark humility: if he was torn limb from limb tonight he would be simply, a casualty, a statistic of the battle. No more, no less. That knowledge humbles a man.
Before the dead rose screaming their rage and obscene hunger, Paul had assumed life would just go on, maybe get better – like most folks do. It hadn’t. He was a doctor but he really wasn’t used to patching up trauma wounds. He hadn’t counted on all that blood but he’d deal with it. Paul had always believed himself to be a leader – but boy howdy, did reality suck or what?
Rabinowitz had the medics and nurses assigned to his field hospital quickly re-distribute the various firearms stacked near the side door. Many of the wounded and injured had retained their guns until they got to the clinic: men or women who could stand or even fire from a sitting position if necessary were handed their weapons.
After a brief personal recon Paul intended to put the ‘walking wounded’ in defensive positions around the ad hoc aide station and outbuildings at Smith Plantation.
Somewhere outside the clinic there was supposed to be a security team of Armed Citizens and some Georgia State Defense Force troopers – the guys in the black coveralls. He’d seen men in digital camouflage as well – National Guard? He assumed the SWAT looking characters were State Troopers ready to go all spec ops to protect the governor.
He’d seen a woman he recognized as Jane Miniver, trudging hand in hand up the marble stairs of the court house with a soldier carrying several rifles. But where was the QRF – the Quick Reaction Force? “That can’t be me,” he thought, squeezing his fists as hard as he could, to keep his hands from shaking. “I’m the doctor…”
The trouble was that the security force had to cover the governor’s HQ in the Court House plus the armory and refugees at the Cultural Arts Center. They were supposed to be reinforced as more locals showed up to bolster their ranks. It didn’t look much like reinforcements had made it here yet.
The Field Hospital at the Smith Plantation was located behind the larger Court House and Cultural Center buildings and was not so much protected by the security troops as existing for them as a fallback position. There were more refugees in the nearby library but he couldn’t tell what was going on over there because of the darkness.
As the shooting and the screams seemed to get closer Paul went over to his card table desk and threw his blood stained lab coat in the corner. He put on a Georgia Self Defense Force chest harness full of magazines and picked up his GK-47 assault rifle from behind his makeshift examination table – blood stained doors on sawhorses next to some wheeled stretchers scrounged up by his experienced EMTs and military medics.
Everything was improvisation since the emergency was so much more intense and crippling than any simulations had suggested.
He walked towards the exit looking out toward the Cultural Arts Center. If it was time to fight then that’s what he’d do but right now he had to find out what was going on.
The young nurse from his civilian office, who’d been working with him treating the extraordinary number of accident and friendly fire casualties, looked at him angrily, “What are you doing? Don’t you even think of leavin’ me here alone!”
A younger Paul might have stopped to calm her down. He’d been easily distracted by a damsel in distress – or not, for that matter. This was different. He just didn’t have time – this was his field hospital and it sounded like trouble was coming this way in a hurry. If so – Dr. Rabinowitz was going to have to become Major Rabinowitz and organize a last ditch defense – and hope it wasn’t needed.
Had the river line failed to hold? Or was it just leakers? Either way – he had to know and get ready to defend this place. He was out of time.
Paul walked quickly to the blood covered nurse and hugged her tightly, knowing she was close to going into shock – he looked meaningfully at an EMT medic who’d been working with them – the medic nodded almost imperceptibly - he would know what to do…
Then, in a very Old Testament sort of way; Major Paul Rabinowitz, MD, girded up his loins, strapped on his rifle like he’d been taught, and walked over to the exit and into the night.
The defenders barricaded outside the courthouse were dispersed, slaughtered or driven up the marble steps into the building. There were not a lot of openings they could use to put down fire. Panicked shooters at the main entrance started kicking ricochets back into the governor’s party. Governor Selvedge was hit by marble splinters; one of Harper’s aides, Travis Renske was struck in the funny bone by a round. He was shocked by how much that hurt.
Sgt Major Norvel sprinted forward, slapping men on the back of their heads and shoulders. “Stop that shit you idiots! Aimed fire! Single Shot! Dumbasses!” He fired a series of double taps from his GK and hollered again, “Don’t just stand there damn it!” They formed a line at the top of the marble steps.
Jane Miniver pulled a panicky youth in a black coverall back into the building by the scruff of his neck and stood next to P
ete Norvel at the top of the marble steps. She started putting down fire and trying to keep herself from panicking. The damned creatures wouldn’t go down! “Pete…”
“Just keep hitting ‘em!” Pete shouted. The troopers and some of the SDF people were calming down and firing aimed shots – it was if an invisible wall of fire was shielding them from the Zs but they couldn’t keep it up for too much longer.
Governor Selvedge, bleeding from her forehead, neck, leg and where ever, had propped herself against the wall inside the building, with her big (for her) GK-47 set to two shot bursts, and waited quietly. Renske propped himself up next to her, pistol in his left hand, face contorted in pain.
“Echo Six to Echo Seven – Uncle Jean – we’re here – everybody get down now!” Alice’s Posse hit the Zs from what with human beings would have been called their left flank. The Posse were probably the most experienced folks on the planet at fighting these things. They went in fast, shooting aimed bursts from the shoulder.
Less than a minute later another force hit the Zs on their right. It was Rabinowitz and his merry band!
Major Rabinowitz had collected a total of seventeen men and women, including walking wounded, Armed Citizens and a few civilians with various firearms. He attacked south from the Smith Plantation North of the Court House just as the Posse hit from the south moving north. It wasn’t much of a Quick Reaction Force but it would do.
The Zs were crushed.
Later Major Rabinowitz would be presented with a ‘Whispering Death’ patch from Captain Alice of the State Defense Force element that had fought at his side that night – the celebrated ‘Posse’. He would wear it proudly.
Mrs. Miniver’s Journal
The battle continued for the North River Bridges. Somehow, in the end, our people held them off; most of them. Human losses were enormous – the creatures were so fast, so vicious…one of them, just one – got into the refugees at the public library behind the Cultural Center tore several people apart, and bit several others who would soon contribute to the carnage. By the time a squad of Armed Citizens finally put them all down it looked like a slaughter pen.
That was what victory looked like in Roswell on Z-Day+1. Battles like this were being fought all over the United States. Most of those battles were lost – humanity was on the ropes.
Evan Carlson
(KIA Battle of the North River Bridges – Letter to his sister was found on the identifiable part of his body)
Darlene
You and I have been close since we were little bits – so I’m sending this ‘just in case’ letter to you rather than worry Mom and Dad – you know how Mom is. I’m sorry to lay this on you but it is kind of intense just now so just in case- ha ha …here is what I have to say about all this so you all will know how it went down with me.
I didn’t even vote for the Governor until 2006. I couldn’t see why she’d ‘wasted’ so much money on state forces and was always harping about preparedness and emergency response all the time. I’d sort of assumed she was building up for more of that war on terror nonsense that never seemed to accomplish a darn thing. It just seemed silly to me I suppose.
Besides I was making pretty good money – the governor’s economic policies had actually caused things to happen for me, employment wise. “Even a blind squirrel,” I figured. “Black Vera – right…” Yeah, I knew she’d lost her husband, then her son. But spare me the melodrama please!
I know that wasn’t too kind and I regret that I thought that now.
I’d never wanted anything to do with the military – Dad had named me after some marine hero of his and assumed I’d follow him into the Marine Corps. No thank you. I’d been bossed around enough by him at home!
After 2006 it began to look like we really did have trouble coming – everything was getting stranger and scarier – reanimated dead? Bio-warfare? Holy shit! I’m probably not the only guy to rethink a lot of things at that point.
I signed up for the Georgia Defense Force; I actually liked it and decided to go full time. Maybe I am Dad’s son after all. I knew something awful was coming our way. I just wanted to stand up and fight it face to face – I knew if I didn’t, it would come for me anyway.
In less than six months I was wearing these brand new black coveralls with the Whispering Death patch on the shoulder looking out over my gun sights at the ‘Hootch near the 400 bridge, in the dark and waiting for what comes next. If it wasn’t for the mosquitoes I’d think I was just having a bad dream.
Captain Talbot says we can hold this bridge until hell freezes over. I’d thought he was kind of a blowhard at first – and he seemed pretty old for a captain. But tonight he is right up here with us and has a rifle strapped over his shoulder at low ready, cracking jokes and handing out advice on fighting these things like it was no big deal.
I’m not scared – not too much - but I will do my duty and trust in God.
Love you Darlene and please give my love to Mom and Dad
Evan
PS – I can hear something going on now so I guess it’s fixing to start soon. God be with us all.
Michael Peirce
Mike has been a musician and songwriter as well as a soldier in an African War and private security agent. His “Red Dirt Zombies” trilogy started life as a musical and draws on his experiences in those other areas. The TV show “The Walking Dead” shows the consequences of losing the war against the Zs. Peirce’s books focus on the consequences of winning. “Red Dirt Zombies 1, the Battle for Roswell Georgia” is available on Amazon as paperback or Kindle. The sequel, “Grace Before Battle” is due in late spring 2016. Later in the year a non-fiction book called “Observations: African Days and Hollywood Nights” is in the works as well as several short stories.
MichaelPeirceAuthor on Facebook
MichaelPeirceAuthor.com
Gone Viral…Again
By Lindy Spencer
"
What do you mean, 'the virus has spread'?" He whispered as loudly as possible into his phone.
I stopped reading the research book currently open on the table in front of me and stared open-mouthed at Todd. Surely he didn't just say what I think he said, I thought. Cramming all night and into the morning must be playing tricks on my hearing.
Todd, kicker for the football team and my current study partner, sat across the wooden library table from me with his phone pressed tightly to his ear. His eyes were currently bugging out of his head. Not a good look for a normally normal looking guy. Girls must like the six foot two inch, one hundred seventy-five pound, blonde haired, blue eyed combination; either that or they were after him because he was on the football team. Either way, that was his deal – I had my own problems with women. The ones chasing me liked me to help them with their assignments and then tell me I was like a brother to them. A brother. Of all the things they could say, that one was the worst. They don’t understand we’d rather hear, ‘You’re not my type but thanks for asking me out anyway’ than, ‘You’re like a brother to me.’ I’m an average-looking guy, but at six foot four inches tall and one hundred seventy-five pounds, give or take, they were happier to have me around for protection from guys who didn’t take them seriously when they said get lost. All I had to do was stand behind the girls and flex a few muscles for them to take the hint and leave. Maybe I needed to stop being so nice all the time. I don’t know.
"No, I crammed all night. Haven’t talked to him since before the virus the last time—"
There'd been a virus of sorts going around the campus a couple weeks ago that turned every student with a working brain into a zombie. That, in itself, caused problems food-wise, since zombies eat brains and the only people not turned into zombies were those who skated by either on scholarship alone or by cheating because they didn't have a working brain cell. We both saw this first-hand — from the zombie side of things.
Rubbing the grit out of my eyes, I stifled a yawn. My five o’clock shadow was itching, so I scrubbed it with my fingertips.
Ahhh, much better.
"No. Thanks. Yeah, later dude." Todd punched the end call button and dropped his phone on the table.
The librarian made her shushing noise at him. He nodded and mouthed sorry to her. She nodded and went back to reading whatever it was librarians read.
"I don’t think I even want to know what that was about," I whispered, even though I was sure I already knew, even from the one-sided portion of the call that I’d heard.
Todd motioned toward his cell phone. "That was Mike Dewitsky. He said he went by the drug store to pick up his girlfriend after her shift. While he waited for Sandy to clock out, he overheard the pharmacist on the phone freaking out about needing more of the shots. When they got in the car, Mike asked her what shots her boss was talking about. She said the virus was back and it was spreading. She was worried, saying she didn't want to turn into a Wanderer again. He dropped her off at her dorm and told her to get some clothes together; they would go to his parent's house for the weekend. He left to pack some of his own stuff, and called me with the heads up. He turned last time, too, and doesn't want to do it again either."
All Things Zombie: Chronology of the Apocalypse Page 19