“Scope it out,” Guerra said, nodding toward the house. He shot a glance over his shoulder, where Reader and Stilley were working with another crew. “Reader!”
Reader raised his head. “’S’up, Sergeant G?”
“You and Stilley, get on your weapons. Movement at the house across the creek.”
Guerra pulled off his heavy work gloves and put on his tactical gloves.
The Guardsman looked irritated. “Hey, Sergeant. We got a job to do here. Security’s in place. Don’t worry about anything.”
Guerra shook his head. “Security’s looking for reekers, not dudes with thirty-ought-sixes or whatever the Amish might have.”
“Fuck. They’re not gonna shoot us.” The Guardsman turned and waved over one of the officers standing on the low hillside above them, near the foot of the bridge where the container was being set up.
“You just stay where you are, guy.” As he spoke, Guerra pulled his rifle into his hands. “I’m going to go talk to those people and see what’s up. Keep working. I’ll be back in a bit.” From the corner of his eye, he saw Reader and Stilley move closer to the creek, looking at the house, their weapons held at low ready.
“Got movement,” Reader announced.
“Keep cool,” Guerra said. “If they’re alive, give ’em a chance.”
“Well, what if they ain’t alive?” Stilley asked.
“What the fuck do you think? They attack, you shoot.” Guerra stepped over the coiled wire and picked his way through the tanglefoot wire stretched out across the ground. It hadn’t been fully placed yet, so he could still cut a path through it, as long as he was careful.
“Soldier, where are you going?” a Guard lieutenant asked as he climbed down the hill.
“Movement at the house across the creek,” Guerra said.
“Don’t waste your time. They’re Amish. Get back to work!”
Guerra ignored the man as he cleared the tanglefoot and hurried to the creek’s edge. “Where did you see movement?” he asked Reader.
“Second-story window. Someone looked out. They were trying to be subtle about it, but I saw a face. I think it might be a kid.”
“Alive?”
Reader shrugged. “Well, the reekers don’t exactly get any prizes for being crafty, Sergeant G.”
A man suddenly popped up above the fence. He wore a black hat and had a long gray beard that actually flapped a bit in the tepid breeze. Unless he was twelve feet tall, he must have been standing on a ladder or something, because his entire upper body was exposed to mid-sternum. Stilley started to raise his rifle but checked himself before Guerra could say anything. All we need is for the retard to start a firefight with the Amish.
The bearded man stared at them with eyes shaded by a particularly thick brow then glanced over at the activity occurring up at the bridge. “What are you doing?” he yelled. His English was clear and unaccented.
“Sure he’s Amish?” Reader asked Guerra. “I thought they talked like people from North Dakota or something.”
“We’re building a barricade to hold back the dead,” Guerra shouted back, ignoring Reader’s comment. “Hey, you mind if we come over?”
“Why do you want to come over?”
“Because yelling back and forth is just going to attract the dead.”
The man snorted. “Like all that noise you’re making won’t bring them anyway?” He pointed down the creek with a long bony finger.
Guerra looked in the direction the man indicated. Sure enough, several figures were stumbling and splashing their way through the creek. The slowly moving water was only up to their knees, but it was enough to slow their progress. Stilley and Reader looked in that direction as well, and Stilley swore. The reekers were still a hundred yards away but close enough that they should have been noticed by the element’s security detail.
“Hey, our guards really suck,” Reader said.
Before Reader finished his sentence, the leading zombie fell face-first into the water. Guerra hadn’t heard a gunshot, so he supposed the reeker had just lost its footing. The corpse floundered lethargically in the water, floating away as the light current moved it downrange. Comically, its legs got entangled with another, and that zombie went down, too. The two corpses then took out a third reeker. The ghouls thrashed sluggishly, struggling to get back on their feet to resume their slow-motion hunt.
Fucking Keystone Kops over there. Guerra turned back to the Amish man, who was still peering over the fence. If the man thought the zombie domino game in the creek was at all entertaining, it didn’t show on his face.
“Listen, don’t worry about those,” Guerra said. “We’ll take care of them. But the reeker population is just going to go up. You might want to consider relocating.”
“Reeker?”
“Yeah. Reekers.” Guerra pointed at the corpses struggling in the water. “Zombies. Those things.”
One of the officers yelled for Reader and Stilley to shoot the reekers, but Guerra snapped his fingers and got their attention before they obeyed.
“Hey, wait until they’re closer,” Guerra told them. “I don’t want either of you yahoos missing.”
Reader shot him a thumbs-up. “You got it.”
Guerra turned back to the Amish man. “So listen, sir. How many people you have inside that house?”
“Fourteen,” the man said.
“You should come back to Fort Indiantown Gap with us. I like what you did with the stockade fence and the fortifications you’ve made to your house, but it’s not going to be enough.”
The man shook his head. “We prefer to stay. Thank you.”
Guerra snorted. “Sir, there are going to be millions of reekers heading this way from points east. Believe me when I tell you that your defenses aren’t going to be enough. Really, you need to consider bailing out of there while you can.”
“No. Thank you. We’ll be fine.” With that, the man started to duck back down behind the fence.
“Hey, hold up for a second!” Guerra shouted. When the man poked his head up over the fence again, Guerra pointed at the container being erected at the foot of the bridge. “If things get hot and you guys can evacuate, make it up to there. If you can’t, cross the creek, and make your way inland. You know where the Gap is?”
“Yes. We know where Fort Indiantown Gap is.”
“Sergeant, I could really use your help here,” the Guardsman wrestling with the razor wire said.
Guerra ignored him. “Do your best to get there, if you can,” he told the Amish man. “Don’t try to stick it out because that fence might keep a dozen reekers out, but it’s not going to do anything about a couple of thousand. If it looks like you’re going to be surrounded, move out. Take only what you need. Don’t stop for anything. And some of the zombies can run, especially the little ones. Keep that in mind.”
The man nodded. “We will.”
Guerra slapped at another mosquito. “The garrison commander at the Gap is a man named Jarmusch. The ground force commander is Victor. I’m Guerra, with the Tenth Mountain Division. Remember that stuff, all right?”
“Yes, Staff Sergeant Guerra. I’ll remember it,” the man said, and Guerra thought it was kind of cool that an Amish guy with a fuzzy beard and beat-up hat knew enlisted military ranks. “Thank you for your concern. I hope we don’t have to come calling.”
“Shit, Sergeant, why don’t you just ask him to bring some buttermilk, too?” the Guardsman snapped.
Guerra turned and glared at the Guardsman. “Hey, you fucking hayseed, you want to keep your dick hole closed for a bit while the adults have a conversation?”
The Guardsman huffed and shook his head. “Sure, I’ll just stand around and wait for you to finish up your outreach initiative, Sergeant. What the fuck was I thinking?”
Guerra rolled his eyes and shrugged at the Amish man. “Sorry. We’re not all like that.”
The old man favored Guerra with a thin smile. “We’re used to it. Thank you again.”
“Boy, these things sure are dumb,” Stilley mused aloud.
“And to think you have that in common with them, retard,” Guerra said.
Stilley seemed hurt by the comment. “Sergeant G, don’t be so hostile now.”
Several Guardsmen pushed forward, weapons at the ready.
Guerra waved them back. “Get back to your positions. We’ve got these things.”
The first zombie finally made it to the bank. Sliding a bit in the mud, it lurched toward the lightfighters.
Guerra nudged Reader in the side. “Reader, you’re up.”
“What?” Reader regarded the approaching zombies uneasily, a haunted look on his face. He hadn’t shaved in over a day, and a nice five o’clock shadow had settled in on his face. Guerra made a note to talk to him about that later.
“Shoot the reekers,” Guerra said.
Reader shifted his M4 in his hands. “Uh, what if they’re not reekers, Sergeant?”
Guerra sighed and pointed at the first zombie shambling toward them. Its clothes were tattered, and its flesh was a dull gray in color. Even its eyes looked drab and colorless, totally devoid of any character. It had been a strapping young man in life, maybe a local farm boy or a soda jerk or a gas station attendant. Maybe even a high school homecoming king a few years back. But no longer. It was a smelly meat sack, a mindless, carnivorous golem that existed only to consume the living. Behind it, the other zombies made land, though one of them did fall into the mud. The one behind it merely walked right over the corpse without ceasing its moaning.
“They’re deadheads, Reader. Shoot them. Now,” Guerra said.
“What if they’re not?” Reader asked. “What if they’re just people, a little crazy, like that lady on the road?”
“Hey, I’ll shoot ’em!” Stilley offered.
Guerra waved the black soldier back. “Settle down, knuckle-dragger. Reader, I want you to engage.”
The first zombie was nearly twenty feet away. Flies buzzed around it but didn’t settle on its fetid form for more than an instant. They looked like little airplanes practicing touch-and-go landings.
Reader shouldered his rifle. “Uh…”
“Reader, get over what happened on the road,” Guerra said. “That was then; this is now. These aren’t people. They’re things. End them. One shot, one kill. Do it now.”
“Hey, is everything all right down there?” one of the security Guardsmen shouted.
“Yeah!” Stilley yelled. “Hey, Reader, just shoot ’em, okay?” Stilley was getting spooked, eyes wide as he watched the approaching zombies.
Fifteen feet. The fallen one had finally dug itself out of the creek’s bank and was clambering to its knees, trying to moan around a mouthful of mud.
“Get on your weapon!” Guerra shouted into Reader’s ear. He followed up the order with a slap to the back of the soldier’s helmet. “Fucking shoot!”
Reader sighted his rifle and fired three times. The first round hit the closest zombie in the right eye, and it fell as if pole-axed. The second one took a round to the forehead, and it vibrated as if it had been shocked before collapsing. The third reeker was hit in the left cheek, and the round turned upward and escaped through the top of its skull, blasting away a nice chunk of hair and bone. The body collapsed backward, falling into the creek, where it bobbed for a bit before the sluggish current finally began to carry it away.
Reader stared at the three corpses, breathing rapidly. Guerra grabbed his arm and spun him around until Reader was looking at him. The soldier’s blue eyes were wide and panicked, and that didn’t sit well with Guerra one bit.
“Boy, you and I are going to need to have a talk,” Guerra said. “The next time you’re told to fire on the enemy, you fucking fire. That’s all I need you to do—kill zombies. You get that?”
“Yeah, Sergeant,” Reader said, almost gasping. “I get that. Sorry.”
“I want you and Stilley to get back to work. Right now.”
“Hooah.” Reader pushed away from him and climbed back to where he and Stilley had been working the wire.
“Hey, I’ll shoot ’em all day long, Sergeant,” Stilley said.
“You’ll just shoot your eye out,” Guerra said.
Stilley frowned. “Damn. Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”
Because you’re a retard? Guerra wanted to snap but didn’t. He waved Stilley on then went back to his own position. The Guardsman went back to work without another word, which was fine with Guerra. He had enough to worry about without having to endure some citizen-soldier’s bellyaching.
In the distance, he heard the pounding of rotors. Along the horizon, a flight of Chinooks was moving across the sky. He didn’t think that was likely to be a very good omen.
*
Ballantine heard the rifle fire but didn’t pause as he worked with a bunch of soldiers to move a series of HESCO barriers in front of the containers that had been horsed into place across the highway. As they worked, several five-ton trucks had pushed the traffic back by several hundred feet, giving the post a clear field of fire. The added benefit was that the mangled cars and trucks served as another bottleneck obstruction the dead would have to negotiate before they made it to the container walls. Anything that held back the dead was all good in Ballantine’s book.
From atop the double-stacked containers, someone called down, “Hey, Sergeant Ballantine!”
Ballantine looked up, shading his eyes against the midday sun and feeling the sweat roll down his face. “What do you need, McBride?”
“You need to come around. Your captain’s here, and he’s looking for you.” The truculent soldier from the 101st stepped back and disappeared from view.
Ballantine frowned. Hastings is here? Why the hell is that?
“You go ahead, Ballantine,” the lieutenant overseeing the work detail said. “See what your boss wants, and come back when you can. I appreciate you helping out.”
“You got it, sir.” Ballantine slung on his ruck and weapon then headed toward the far end of the barrier.
An opening had been left on either side so that soldiers could pass back and forth during the setup and construction. The paths would be closed off with welded steel planking, HESCOs, and sandbags topped with razor wire to make them inaccessible to the dead. Ballantine had to wait while several Guardsmen transported a load of sandbags past him then slipped down the path to the rear of the container wall. Trucks, trailers, a construction crane, and armored support vehicles were arranged on the backside of the wall. National Guardsmen and active duty soldiers were in action everywhere, setting up the defensive perimeter.
As Ballantine walked through the coordinated chaos, he spotted Hastings standing near a Humvee with several other soldiers, studying a map spread out across the vehicle’s hood. Behind them, another Humvee rolled up, a Shadow UAV rig complete with a trailer carrying one of the remote control aircraft. Ballantine frowned. While forward deploying the drones wasn’t unusual, he hadn’t been made aware of any plans to do so, which likely meant things had changed since he’d left the Gap that morning. Or maybe you’re just a sergeant first class, and the officers in charge don’t have to tell you shit about what they’re up to.
“Hey, sir,” Ballantine said as he came to a halt beside Hastings.
Hastings turned. “Hey, Carl. We got your shopping list, and I brought some things with me.”
“That’s great, sir. So you, uh, decided to deliver them yourself?”
“That and a buttload of bad news,” Captain Vogler said. The beefy officer had an unlit fat cigar jammed into the corner of his
mouth, and his eyes were narrowed as he practically glared down at the map as if it had committed some heinous act for which it must be held accountable.
“Bad news, huh?” Ballantine sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know, Captain. You’re starting to get a reputation.”
Hastings snorted humorlessly. “Don’t I know it. Okay, quick recap. Shadow reconnaissance has detected a sizeable force of reekers heading right down our throats. Initial contact is expected within twenty-four hours, but that could change in either direction. That’s why this Shadow has been forward deployed, and a helicopter recce mission has been launched.”
“Can you define ‘sizeable,’ sir?” Ballantine asked.
“Around fifty to seventy-five thousand”—Hastings tapped the map—“right about here.”
The position he indicated was only about fifty miles east of the barrier’s location along I-78. Ballantine did the work in his head, figuring out engagement ranges, topology, and the mass of wreckage that faced the container wall. It might take days, but he figured the barricade would hold. They could easily kill that many reekers, as the forests on either side of the interstate would serve to dissuade the zombies from breaking off. Besides, they always come to the noise.
“That’s doable, so long as they show up later rather than sooner,” Ballantine said.
“That’s just a preliminary estimate,” Hastings said. “It could be the leading edge of a larger force.”
“What, seventy-five thousand zombies ain’t enough for you?” Vogler asked.
Hastings looked up from the map. “Huh?”
Vogler chuckled, but there was more fear in the laughter than mirth. “Seventy-five thousand? You guys are acting like that’s just another day on the job, Hastings.”
Hastings straightened. “Hey. This is the tip of the iceberg. For all we know, there could be five million more right behind them. You need to get yourself and your men squared away and ready to fight, Vogler, because this is where things start to get hot.”
Vogler looked at Hastings, eyes hard. “Oh, really? I didn’t know I needed a lightfighter to tell me how to do my job, Hastings.”
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