“Right. Fortunately, if they’re all dead, we won’t have to worry about return fire. Just clumsy attacks from B-Grade horror movie zombies,” Thomas said, grinning as he watched the village-turned-mausoleum through the green night optics on the rifle. “Everything is packed to move immediately should we need to retreat in a hurry. We approach through the ravine to the south, which we know is now clear of that one sentry, and we slip into the village near where the goats used to be penned in. We clear house to house in a circle, then move inward until the entire village is empty, or we need to beat feet up here. Should we get separated, we meet at the original extraction point. Right?”
“Roger that. Sounds shitty, but good enough. I’m just hoping this isn’t some kind of fucking pathogen we need to dodge. It’d figure seeing as how we didn’t bring NBC gear on this. Oh well. End of the road either way I suppose. I’m ready when you are.”
“Copy that.”
Thomas and Glen moved like ancient Japanese ninjas stalking their prey through the rocky, barren Afghan nighttime landscape. Both were wearing modified digital style camouflage that blended them in reasonably well with the backdrop and saw using night vision equipment. Somehow the two men found perfect and silent footing with each step, belying their size, and the weight of the gear they carried. One man moved forward, took a position in cover and motioned for the other to move ahead in a similar fashion, leapfrogging as it were. At no point was either man not being covered by his teammate. The two men formed an incredibly lethal, silent duo.
Thomas moved forward to the edge of a home that could’ve been built in the Bronze Age. This part of the world seemed to have skipped a millennia or two. The Navy shooter leaned around the corner tightly, giving anything looking his way little to no target. He scanned the alley for movement, and when he saw none, he motioned for Glen to close on his position so they could start entering and clearing the dated homes.
When Glen slid up against the building across the alley, the two men exchanged a series of rapid hand signals, indicating which house to hit first, and who would do exactly what when they got there. Mistakes in communication for professionals like these were rare, but almost always deadly. High stakes gambling with your life was their daily routine.
Thomas moved down the alley towards the center of the ancient, dying village and turned quickly to the building on their right. Without a moment’s pause to prepare, or hesitation from fear, he raised a powerful leg up and kicked the flimsy door straight to pieces, creating an entrance for the two men. He moved directly through the entry fearlessly and cleared it, escaping the highly dangerous space to stand in. Both men entered the small home with the barrels of their weapons and both eyes scanning for targets that needed a few holes punched in them. Neither man saw any threats in the tiny home and when they exited quietly, searching both ways for movement and noise first, they left a chalk X on the wall next to the missing door. The only sound they had made the entire time was door breaking apart.
The house directly across the alley was their next destination. This time Torrance took the lead instead of Thomas, though the door gave way just as fast. The wood splintered into an absurd amount of pale gray and brown shards as his boot impacted against it. Unlike the first home however, this abode still had occupants.
Glen’s foot destroyed the door and impacted the chest of a man standing just inside it. Barely audible over the wood smashing against Glen’s foot Thomas heard several of the man’s ribs give way with a series of muffled snaps. Glen was a tremendously powerful man. After cracking several of the man’s ribs he spun awkwardly and fell backwards into the center of the home’s main room, never once making a noise over the pain he should have been in. Both men knew instantly the stumbling man had to be one of the walking dead.
Glen’s suppressed weapon coughed angrily twice, striking the man in the shoulder first and the side of the head second. Before he’d fallen from being kicked viciously in the chest he was dead from the gunshots. Before the casings could bounce off the rough floor Glen was a ghost, moving along the wall of the central room like a camo-covered grim reaper. Thomas fanned into the room heading in the opposite direction.
Both men engaged moving targets with fluid ease. Thomas saw a woman wearing a neutral colored shawl attempt to get to her feet in the corner of the room and took no chances with her. A double tap to the upper chest out of his M4A1 put her on her backside and bought them a few moments to assess the room. Glen’s new target was a child approaching from an entryway to the rear and left of the room. Possibly it led to a pantry, or a cooking area, but that didn’t matter at the moment, it only mattered that the boy was missing his entire throat, was still moving at all, and he clawed at the air like a feral creature as he approached the two warriors. Glen’s weapon trained to the missing flesh underneath the teen boy’s chin. He gently operated his trigger twice, sending both rounds into the bloody gap, severing the spinal cord and sending the child tumbling to the floor, permanently dead.
Out of the corner of his eye Thomas saw Glen’s killing shots, and put a single round into the face of the woman he’s just knocked back. Her head snapped back with the bullet’s impact, scattering a huge portion of the back of her skull against the wall. What remained of her head slumped to the side as her body flattened on the floor. In the green moonscape of the night vision equipment the blood looked forest green, and cast an odd sheen.
After putting her down for good, Thomas felt movement directly to his right, against the wall of the small room that doubled as bedroom and living room. He sidestepped away from the motion just as a hand grabbed his boot in a tight grip. The sudden yank at his leg nearly sent him off balance and sprawling, but he kicked out powerfully in a crescent kick motion, putting his heel down onto someone’s body. The impact of his foot shook the hand holding him free, and he turned, taking in his aggressor.
On the floor of the room directly in the corner lay an old man. He’d died some time ago from some form of injuries to his chest. Blood was dried in streams that looked to be from stabs or bullet entrance wounds. Either way, the elderly man with the ashen skin was grinding his teeth and trying to reach out to attack Thomas. Tommy jacked a single 5.56mm round into the skull of the mummified old man, spreading the contents of his skull into the corner of the home.
The entire engagement lasted less than twelve seconds.
“Shit,” Glen said urgently, slightly disturbed. “Fucking kid’s throat was gone.”
Thomas stepped over and took a moment to look at the dead teenager. “Glen they’re fucking zombies. They’re apt to be missing all sorts of body parts. Man the fuck up. This is going to be a long ass night, and it’s gonna get worse.”
“Roger that,” Glen said, blinking the bullshit out of his mind.
“Let’s roll.”
“The sun’s almost up. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes before we’re compromised,” Thomas said as the two men moved down a wider street towards a small cluster of homes at the far end of the village. They’d been at it all night, kicking in door after door, putting a final stamp on the life of this settlement.
Glen reached up with his off hand, lifted his NVGs and wiped the sweat off his brow. His tactical helmet slid down on his slick forehead, covering the area he’d just cleaned with sticky sweat. The rising blue dawn gave them enough light to see without the gear. “We’ve got three houses left. Daylight or no, I say we do them and then head out. At least make sure we’ve secured all the AKs in this fucking burgh. Motherfuckers collected them like my wife collects my paychecks.”
“Sounds good,” Thomas said with a laugh. The two men trotted to the door of one of the three remaining homes on the flat fringe of the village. The trio of homes spilled out into the valley where steppes had been carved out of the side of the terrain to both sides. It looked to the two Americans as if some giant had carved stairs into the mountain to make his ascent to the peak a little easier. Glen booted the door in, and Thomas darted through the entryway, ready
for everything that awaited them.
The same as the thirty plus structures they’d already been in, both men breached and split up, creating separate targets for anyone attacking them, as well as giving them multiple angles of fire. Fortunately, the home was entirely empty of anything dead or alive. Taking a minute, the two men quickly perused the contents of the dwelling, searching for anything that might be edible, or of use to them in this dwindling world. After seeing nothing beyond the usual, the two warriors turned to leave the home.
Just as his eyes swung to the entrance, Thomas noticed a tiny speck of movement at the very corner of his eye. A dirty, small, ruby colored rug had moved on its own. Something underneath it had been propping it up a fraction of an inch, and Thomas had seen it drop down to the flat, earthen floor. He pivoted on one foot and trained the red dot sight on his weapon directly where he’d sensed the movement. Glen followed suit out of instinct, bringing his weapon to bear on the tattered floor covering.
“Movement under the rug,” Thomas said calmly and quietly.
Glen simply nodded and approached the rug from the side. He carefully stayed out of the line of fire should Thomas need to open up with his weapon as he crept forward. Moving slowly and almost silently Glen tip toed forward and reached down, snagging the edge of the rug in a gloved hand. When both men felt ready, Glen yanked the rug out of the way, setting free a bundle of motion from underneath.
A small female figure leapt out of a hastily made hole that had been dug out of the earth floor of the house. She flashed forward towards the door, clearly attempting to escape the room and the two massive SEALs that had just bashed their way into her hiding place.
“Grab her!” Glen barked, dropping the rug.
Thomas took a massive step to the side, cutting her angle to the door abruptly. The girl sped too fast to change her course, and she slammed her frail body into the hip of the tall American still moving at full speed. She careened off of him and collided with the stone wall of the home. The girl dropped to the ground, grunting in pain as she tried to recapture the breath that had been knocked out of her forcefully. As she collected her wind and her wits, Glen crawled to her, pulling a pair of zip ties from his ballistic vest and binding her hands and ankles, rendering her harmless before she could try anything.
“Wow. That was a little random,” Thomas said, letting out a nervous titter of a laugh.
Glen looked up to his friend with a grin. “Dude you just laughed gay. I swear to God.”
“Fuck you Glen. Eat my ass.”
“Yeah you’d like that,” Glen said, searching the tiny girl for weapons or information of use. She had nothing on her sans a small knife that looked to be a few decades old. It was worn clean of rust from frequent use, and was stashed in her waistband. Glen pocketed the knife. “Leave her?”
“Yeah, we’ll check the last two homes and come back for her.”
“Let’s do this.”
The two men sat in the cave as the sun made its morning trip to its zenith. The tiny girl rested in the back of their neatly organized cave, struggling against the strong plastic bindings Glen had put her in just a few hours before. Glen and Thomas pored over their haul from the village as she writhed on the ground, attempting to slip free. Glen counted their haul of 7.62 ammunition for the pair of AK-47s they’d taken as Thomas looked over at the girl with pained eyes, wishing she’d just relax. The little girl froze, staring back at Thomas’ brown eyes with blue orbs that shone like the day sky, even in their tiny, dark cave. Thomas couldn’t help but smile at her fragile, dirty beauty.
Glen interrupted Thomas’ moment with the girl. “We’ve got maybe two more days of food. That’s assuming we keep the girl around and feed her too. Water is decent as long as our purification tablets hold out. I don’t think I’m the only white skinned fella in this cave that thinks we need to find a far better place to be in damn short order.”
Thomas broke his eye contact with the mocha-skinned Afghan girl and nodded, looking at the meager remnants they had collected from the village they’d watched over. The food they found was just as likely to tear their intestines out with diarrhea as to sustain them. Local goat grabs were always dicey this far off the beaten path, never mind month-old leftovers. “Yeah. Did you see that old Nissan pickup in the lean-to against that little hut on the far side of town? If it works, and there’s a little fuel…”
“We might make it out of the valley and towards a FOB. We aren’t that far by vehicle. We could drive halfway and be there in no time flat.” Glen sniffed a tiny chunk of unidentified smoked meat wrapped in fresh cotton. It still smelled good, and he felt a smidge more relieved.
“Not too much between here and there either really. Real question is what do we do with our little guest?” Thomas asked, trying to avoid eye contact with the girl. Somehow the girl sensed that they were speaking about her, and she sat very still suddenly, keenly paying attention to their body language.
“How’s your Pashto?” Glen asked Thomas.
“As good as my Farsi,” Thomas mused. Neither man had a strong aptitude for the foreign language or its dialects in the region. They’d caught unending shit for that failing too.
“Should we try Greek? I mean it’s just as likely to be successful.” Glen laughed.
Thomas turned and faced the girl, and after giving it ample thought, awkwardly stumbled through a series of greetings in both Arabic dialects. The girl patiently waited for him to finish, then slowly shook her head in a sad fashion that looked very familiar for the girl. She’d said no to this before. She’d said no to speaking or hearing.
The two men sat in the cave thinking of what her defiance meant when suddenly Thomas put two and two together, “Oh shit, watch this.” Thomas turned back to her and pointed to his ears. He then made the universal sign of ‘no,’ by slashing his hands slowly back and forth across one another, trying to indicate that she couldn’t hear. The girl nodded, showing slight relief that the large man in front of her had so quickly discovered why she didn’t respond to him.
“She’s deaf? Are you shitting me? World is covered with zombies, we’re stuck in the greasy taint of Afghanistan, we’re running low on food and water, my balls are itchy, and we pick up a deaf, starving girl? Shit someone up somewhere high is getting a laugh over on us brother,” Glen said, scratching his head and laughing at their predicament.
“Hold on,” Thomas said as he pulled a long, thin stick out of the corner of the cave. The SEAL scratched out the Arabic word for hello in the dirt on the floor in front of the young girl. He pointed at it, and she nodded at him, finally showing a smile. Despite her yellowing teeth, her smile lit her face up, and a small bit of real beauty came through. Thomas grinned. “We’re in business. Let’s cut her hands free and see if she can write as good as she can read.
Glen stood up and flicked his blade open, startling the girl. She scrambled backwards to get away from him, but with Thomas showing both palms to her and smiling in the most calming way he could, she sat still long enough for Glen to cut the zip tie on her ankle. She offered the hands behind her back quickly after, and Glen freed her fully. He sat down in the center of the cave, blocking her in should she try and bolt past them again. Thomas broke the stick in half and handed a dull half to her. He wrote his name and rank on the dirt floor, and pointed to his chest, and she nodded. She quickly and adeptly scrawled a name on the floor and pointed to her dirty robes draped over her too thin body. She returned to the floor and quickly wrote out multiple sentences, spilling out a wealth of conversation in just seconds. It took Thomas a few minutes to piece her bad handwriting and misspellings together, but he looked to Glen with a new confidence as she crossed her arms in a satisfied manner.
“She says her name is Rasa, she’s originally from Kabul, she’s fourteen, and she wants to go to a village about two day’s walk away to find her aunt and uncle. If I’m not crazy, I’d say her village is right near FOB McPherson.”
“Let’s hope that Nissan starts
up then eh? Let’s get packing.”
September 23rd
Abby gave birth this morning. Gavin Charles Parker. Cute kid. I could not be more proud of her. She’s well, and the baby is too.
Harold… well the jury’s still out on him.
-Adrian
September 30th
Hal and Abby are doing well, as is little Gavin Charles. He’s the picture of good health, when he’s not screaming bloody murder.
Fussy. Little. Baby.
She and Hal have moved to the far upper floor of the dorm here to the rear nearest the river so they aren’t bothering anyone. Well, so their little one isn’t bothering anyone. While their attempts are appreciated, they have failed. The organic air raid siren they’ve brought into this world has seen to it to wake the dead, yet again. My little sister Becca and her boyfriend Ryan the ex-stoner now head hydroponics gardener, relocated from the top floor to one of the staff houses far to the rear of Bastion’s campus to escape, which was smart on their part. I’d bet the kid only sounds like a chained banshee that far out.
I hate that I like Ryan now.
As much as I love Abby and her baby boy, Michelle and I haven’t gotten a lick of sleep since Gavin’s birth. A few hours here and there, but it’s been miserable for the most part. I slept far better when Kevin and Becky’s kid Chloe was born.
I forgot to mention that before, didn’t I? Turns out the two of them got a wee bit busy on the journey here, and Becky arrived as Kevin explained, ‘somewhat pregnant.’ Baby Chloe has made Kevin a complete man. He couldn’t be happier, or a better father. He takes care of his little daughter better than he ever did me, and that’s saying something. She’s cute as a button too. Looks just like Becky, thank God. We’re taking bets if the kid winds up speaking with an English accent. Becky’s from England, after all.
Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 9): The Dealer of Hope [Adrian's March, Part 1] Page 3