Only the Dead Live Forever

by W. J. Lundy

  “The bottom deck with the docks? How do you plan on getting us down there?”

  “I’ve got some ideas; can you get the men together for me in the upstairs lounge in about thirty minutes? I think it’s time to have a strategy session.”

  Brad gathered everyone in the upstairs lounge. It was a far sight from the room they had entered two days ago. All of the damaged and soiled furniture had been removed and tossed into the sea. Instead of the stench of primal, there was a strong scent of pine oil and bleach. All of the team had gathered around the room, sitting in chairs salvaged from the lower offices. The emergency lighting had been restored and gray daylight was coming in through a broken shatterproof window.

  Sean entered the room and grabbed for a bottle of water sitting on a shelf. He opened the top and poured in a tube of instant coffee, shaking the bottle and taking a swig of the room temperature liquid. He walked across the room and glanced at the floor; it had been freshly mopped and the trash cans were empty. He smiled, knowing that his team was following his orders down to the most mundane detail. It was time. He sat in a chair across from them.

  “Gentlemen … and lady … it’s time we take back this platform. We need a way out of here and we can’t do that unless we are in control of this facility. We have a helicopter but we can’t fly it without fuel; there are ships below but we can’t get to them. It’s time to take back what is ours.”

  “Chief, how we gonna do that?” Ben asked.

  “We are going to kill them all.”

  Sean explained his plan. Over the last two days, the primals outside had begun to detect the presence of the men inside the building. They had been slowly gathering outside the first floor doors. Every night they pounded on the steel fire doors, trying to gain entry. Brooks had found an entry way onto the building’s roof, and they were able to look down onto the crowd outside the entrance.

  The plan was simple. The Marines would go into the lounge, reinforce the doors, and make as much noise as possible, luring the mob to them. Sean, Brad, and Brooks would shoot them from their elevated position on the roof. The upside—they should be able to put them down and stay relatively safe; the downside—they would deplete most of their ammo for the sniper rifles.

  Sean told the men to prepare themselves; they would start the purge as soon as it got dark and the creatures were most active. The men left the room excited—glad to be back on mission and ready to take back the platform.

  9.

  Brad was in the first floor lounge helping the Marines pile furniture against the doors. They had slid the heavy pool table against them and piled chairs (and anything else they could lift) on top of it. They didn’t think the primals could breach the fire doors, but why take risks if they didn’t have to? Swanson was getting the men into position. Sean had put the corporal in charge of the Marine privates, and she had excelled at the position.

  “You ready, Swanson?”

  “Yeah Sergeant, we got this, you just tell us when and we’ll make a heck of a racket. You guys just make sure and kill all of them.”

  Brad pulled her aside, away from the other Marines. “It won’t happen, but if they somehow breach, make sure you get all of your people pulled back into the hallway before you seal the second doors. I know you of all people understand that.”

  “Yeah, understood Sergeant; and you’re right, that’s not going to happen.”

  “Okay, we got a deal. I’m going to take Walkens up with me. When we’re in position, I’ll send him back down to indicate it’s time to party.”

  Brad looked around the room one last time. The Marines had done well with the barricades; they had cut pipes to bang together as noise makers. He saw a large radio sitting on a bench.

  “Hey, where did you all find that?”

  Wilson grinned, holding up the old boom box. “I found this old piece of junk in the janitor’s closet. Has a cassette tape in it, figured if the batteries work, we can turn it up as loud as it’ll go. Worth a shot, right?”

  “Good thinking Wilson! Alright Devil Dogs, if everyone is feeling hooah, hooah, I’m going to head up top and get ready to kick this thing off.”

  “Ooorah! Sergeant!” the Marines shouted.

  “Damn, y’all are about as hard as woodpecker lips.” Brad laughed as he made his way up to the roof being tailed by Walkens.

  Brad found the ladder to the roof maintenance hatch and climbed his way to the platform that rested below the helipad. He found Brooks and Sean perched on an overlook. There were safety lines tied off to piping, and Brad clipped himself in. He approached Sean at the edge of the roof and took a knee.

  “Okay Brad, I want you to engage the targets in front of the door. Keep an eye on those stairs leading to the helipad. We don’t want them getting above us. Make sure nothing gets in. I’m going to take long shots of opportunity anywhere they pop up. Brooks is on the other side of the roof. He will clear out the storage deck and concentrate his fire on the stairs going down to the second deck.”

  “Okay, I think I can handle that,” Brad said.

  “And another thing … be damn sure of what you are shooting at. We are on an oil rig; I don’t want to light this thing up and become a crispy critter,” Sean finished.

  When everyone was in position, Brad yelled to Walken to get back downstairs and tell Swanson that it was ‘go time’. They heard him running through the hallway below. Brad pulled his rifle into his shoulder and started searching the darkness. He took deep breaths to relax himself as he ran through his pre-combat checks.

  The sun had just set; he could just make out a few figures walking the decks with his naked eye. His night vision was powered up and working perfectly. He pulled them down, and watched the deck light up into green and blacks. The rain was still coming down, but the lightning was far off and the winds had subsided.

  Brad was sitting in a good firing position when he started hearing the clanging of bars and pounding against the walls downstairs. Then they heard a loud DONNNNNG! DONNNNNG! DONNNNNG! “What the hell is that?” Sean asked.

  “I don’t know, man, but the primals are waking up … I see them climbing the stairs,” Brooks called out.

  The DONNNNNG! DONNNNNG! continued and was now joined by an electric guitar solo. Brad smiled. “Oh, shit! I think Wilson’s boom box works; sounds like he’s playing us some AC/DC tonight!”

  They could just make out the lyrics of ‘Hells Bells’ as the first of the primals began moaning. Soon the platform was thundering with the sounds of primals and AC/DC.

  “I'm rolling thunder, pouring rain”

  “I have heavy contacts … They’re rushing up the steps. I won’t be able to hold them all!” Brooks shouted.

  “I’m coming on like a hurricane”

  Brad heard the report of Brook’s M14 rifle launching the heavy 7.62 rounds. The primals were charging down the walkway. Sean’s rifle joined the chorus and Brad watched the numbers thin as the mass moved towards the doors. He pulled the rifle tight, and just before they got to the entrance, he took a deep breath and fired.

  “I won't take no prisoners, won't spare no lives”

  Brad watched one of the primals flinch and snap back, but another quickly took its place. He had been cautioned early by Sean to not ‘double tap’ and to stay away from the three-round burst. Ammo was now a precious commodity, so one shot/one kill was the rule for this hunt. Brad tried to calm his nerves and make every shot count.

  He put his dot on another creature, pulled back on the trigger, and felt the recoil. The creature moved at the last second and the round impacted it high in the shoulder. Brad cursed himself for the miss. He closed his eyes tight and then relaxed his eye back on the scope. He found another target and put the dot at the base of its neck, pulled the trigger, and watched it drop.

  “I got my bell I’m gonna take you to Hell; I’m gonna get ya Satan get ya”

  They were now massed heavily on the doors, pounding and screaming. Brad was picking out targets and firing cal
mly as he tried to make every round count. Sean’s and Brooks’ rifles barked in the target-rich environment. Brass was piling up around all of them. Brad reached into his pack for a fresh magazine, let the bolt go forward, and took up aim again.

  He found one that was pulling hard on the door’s handle, and dropped him quickly. He searched for a new target and saw motion in his peripheral vision. A group of them were now charging up the stairs to the helipad. He switched his position and turned, firing rapidly to stop the creatures’ crude attempts at a flanking maneuver. He knocked down the leaders who fell backwards, taking the others with them.

  “Hell’s bells, you got me ringing, Hell’s bells”

  Brad brought his attention back to the door. The primals had forced a corner of the door back and were pulling on it. There was a massive pile of dead in front of the entrance that partially prevented them from being able to pull it open. Brad saw sparks below that indicated the Marines were now firing through the door, joining the fight.

  “I’ll give you black sensations up and down your spine”

  The mass withered. Sean’s rifle went silent; soon after Brooks halted as well. Brad searched and scanned the pile below. Sean sounded off that his sector was clear, and Brooks followed suit. Brad made another pass and was about to speak when he saw movement at a corner. He focused his vision and saw the Alpha leader they had spotted days earlier on the platform. Brad tried to pick up a sight picture just as the Alpha disappeared.

  “I’m clear but I think one got away!” Brad shouted.

  Sean made his way to Brad’s position. “What do you mean … got away?”

  “I don’t know Sean, it’s like he … like he fell back … he … ahh … retreated,” Brad sputtered in disbelief.

  “What? They don’t do that. These things are lemmings; they always rush to their death.”

  “I’m telling you Chief, it was the big leader from a few days ago! He was watching from around that corner right there. Just as I got a bead on him, he tucked and disappeared.”

  “Shit, well if that’s true, it makes things a bit more interesting.” Sean paused for a moment. “Okay, nothing we can do about it now. Let’s get downstairs and check on the kids,” he said as he started packing up his gear.

  10.

  Brad and Sean made the walk downstairs together in search of the Marines. They found them in the lounge. They were cheering and patting each other on the back. This was the first victory they had achieved against the primals.

  “We whooped them good, Chief,” Walkens called out.

  “Calm down hero, we just shot a bunch a fish in a barrel, but yeah, you all did well.”

  “Nahh Chief, you don’t understand; those things chased our asses all the way out of Afghanistan. We always been on the run from them. This is the first time we kicked their asses.”

  The Marines in the room burst into cheers.

  “What’s next Chief, we going to assault the next deck?” Swanson asked.

  “Alright, everyone calm down. You guys kicked ass, I get that, and yeah, we took back this deck … maybe. Let’s wait till first light. Once the sun comes up we’ll run some recons and make sure we secured the deck,” Sean said.

  “Screw that, Chief, let’s do it now!” Wilson yelled.

  Brooks walked out of the hallway and took a seat on the pool table stacked against the doors. “Y’all do realize we only dropped about seventy-five to a hundred of those things just now, don’t ya? From what I understand there were five hundred stationed here. Yeah, maybe the rest were able to evacuate, but I think I’d rather wait until daylight to figure that out,” he said.

  “Okay, okay, so what we going to do till tomorrow, I’m all ramped up,” Walkens asked.

  “Uhhh, I got an idea,” Tony the civilian said as he walked into the room from the hallway.

  “You do, huh?” Sean asked.

  Tony reached into a small knapsack and pulled out a full bottle of bourbon. “How ‘bout a bit of Kentucky windage to celebrate and calm our nerves, Chief?”

  “Shit,” Sean said, looking at the bottle. Then he looked around the room and saw the men’s faces light up. “Well, seein' as you got one bottle to split twelve ways, I’d say what the hell, break out some glasses. And Tony, you better not be sneaking open another bottle. When this one’s gone, that’s it.”

  The men clamored to pull down glasses from a cabinet, and they grouped around Tony, slapping him on the back as he careful divided the precious liquid between them. Brad hesitated, then walked towards the corner of the room to sit in a chair.

  “Shoot, get over here and get your share, Army,” Swanson called out.

  Brad started to say no, until the rest of the Marines cheered for him to join in. He grinned and walked across the room to take a cup. He sniffed the liquid; Tony apparently was not a connoisseur of fine bourbons. Brad took a sip of the brown stuff and felt it burn as it went down. He made a face, which again caused the men to cheer.

  Brad smiled back at the men and steadied the glass, then picked up his gear with his free hand. He turned and moved into the hallway, walking slowly on the clean vinyl tile. He walked until he found an office with intact furniture and moved in, dumping his gear to the floor with a thud. The office held a sofa and a large steel desk with an old, high back chair behind it.

  He went behind the desk and took a seat in the chair. Unbuckling holsters, he placed his M9 and S&W Sigma pistols on the desk, then leaned back and put up his feet. He took another sip of the whiskey and felt the burn, this time enjoying it a bit more. He pulled a water bottle from his cargo pocket and added water to the glass. Not so much to water it down, but to make it last just a bit longer.

  Brad could hear the men joking in the lounge; the mood lifted with the sudden feelings of security now that the deck was presumed clear. Brad looked over his shoulder, opened the blinds behind him, and some light spilled into the room. Looking out, he was surprised to see the rains had finally stopped and he could see the moon.

  “Looks like the weather finally broke,” Swanson said, breaking the silence.

  Brad looked up and saw her standing in the doorway. “Yeah, looking that way. What can I help you with, Corporal?”

  “Please, call me Chelsea,” she answered.

  “Okay … Chelsea … What’s up?”

  “Mind if I take a seat?” she asked as she looked at the sofa across the room from Brad.

  “Sure, take a load off,” he answered, lifting his glass in a mock salute.

  Chelsea leaned her rifle against the wall, plopped onto the sofa, leaned back and took a sip from her half empty glass before making a foul face.

  “Here, add some water, it mellows it a bit,” Brad said, tossing her the water bottle.

  Chelsea smiled and filled her glass back to the top with water, then took another sip, making the same face. “I don’t think it helped much. I’d kill for a Coke right now.”

  “So what brings you to my office, Chelsea?’ Brad asked just before he took another sip of his bourbon.

  “Just looking for some company,” she smiled back.

  “What, the privates don’t entertain you?” Brad chuckled.

  “Yeah, turns out that crude jokes and ball scratching get old after a while,” she laughed.

  “Let me ask you Chelsea, how did you find your way onto this rig? Why weren’t you sent back to the States?”

  “The States, I wish … I mean, what’s left of them, anyway. I haven’t heard anything from them in weeks. After the fall, this is where we were dropped. But it’s still better than on the ground. We were cornered against the walls of the airfield and we had been holding up for days hiding in the bunkers. With the armor, we were holding the lines, doing the best we could. Some officers were trying to get everyone out, but there weren’t enough planes on the ground to move everyone.”

  “I’d heard they recalled everyone back to the States and closed the bases. My unit never got a warning; my company was lost in the field. At le
ast you had the evac order,” Brad said.

  “Oh, they tried, I’ll give them that … the first days of the evacuation were impressive; huge airlift flights leaving the ground and landing every few minutes. The Cobras and Apaches were tearing up wave after wave of primals, trying to cover the withdrawal. After a couple of days, the flights dwindled with the fuel supplies. Combat troops and those with special skills were getting priority to be sent back to the States. I was in a maintenance unit and kept getting passed over.

  “Eventually, they asked for techs and mechanical types to volunteer to help get these rigs online as staging areas. Our commander jumped at the chance to get us out of that place. A Chinook helicopter picked up my team and dropped us here. It was good duty, considering … and they said once the Navy ship was replenished they would be getting us home.”

  “Yeah, shitty luck I guess … what’d you know about the attacks? How did we lose Leatherneck? All that muscle and advanced warning, I’d figure they would hold forever.”

  Chelsea took a long pull on her glass and spoke quietly, “We heard the rumors and were briefed about the ‘zombie’ attacks, or whatever they were, but nobody believed it. The camp was put on lock down, and nobody was allowed in or out. We had a hundred percent up on the walls but nothing happened. We joked about it, but folks were getting pissed off about pulling twelve hour shifts out on the wire.

  “We heard stories of camps in the north getting overrun and about Bagram falling. Comms started failing, we lost Internet access … then the sirens blared in the middle of the second night. At first they came in ones and twos. Even though we were warned, the sergeants of the guard still hesitated; they didn’t want to shoot unarmed civilians. But that didn’t last long. Not after we saw the damage they could do.

  “Eventually our gate was hit by a wave of thousands. The machine guns fired until their barrels warped. Airstrikes and gunships pounded them. It didn’t take long before the base was surrounded and they were in so close that we couldn’t get effective support from the artillery guns. The main gates fell; they swarmed and pushed in.