Dead Man's Party

by Nathan Robert Brown

  Four more zombies wandered slowly around the corner of what Erik could only assume had been a multi-million dollar mansion. He called out the zombies to CPL McMurphey, his team leader, whose sector the zombies would cross first. “Four in your zone, Corporal.” The younger Marine nodded and dropped to a knee to wait for the zombies to close a bit.

  Erik returned to scanning his sector and his thoughts. He couldn't help but think about how drastically their tactics would have to change as soon as their front quadrupled or more in size. Hard to build a strong enough wall over a quarter mile or more without being overrun in the process. Manning it would easily eat their meager numbers.

  What happens when they mass? Oh shit. What happens when they mass? They would walk across their fallen like stairs to get to us. If, no when, enough of them figure out we're here, they'll move or scale the walls.

  The realization terrified Erik. He decided the next meeting, when Gunny asked for questions, he would ask a couple of carefully phrased questions. At the same time, he felt confident Gunny and the captains had thought of it because they ordered two crew served weapons and their ammo, mounted on the main wall. Those guns didn't open up unless a sizable crowd happened to come knocking.

  Corporal McMurphey fired five shots in a space of fifteen seconds, leaving four more corpses in the bloody street. No one knew how much of the blood came from the twenty or so zombies laying in the field or from before. They tried not to think about it as they watched and waited. Two more shots cracked somewhere behind Erik.

  A problem with firearms is they tend to be noisy. Humans are noisy animals in general, talking, running machinery etc. Zombies only make noise when they moan. And they only do that when there's food nearby, so far as anyone can tell. Their quiet nature, this innate ability to stand or sit motionless until food is close, gives zombies the ability to hear even small noises.

  Something shot a shiver along Erik's spin. Along the line, Erik could see a few others casting nervous glances around. To his left, Bookie sniffed at the air. Not that it would do any good, none of them had any real sense of smell over the constant stench of rot.

  Erik started to shout to Bookie to see what trouble he expected. Bookie made a slashing motion across his neck and brought his finger to his lips. He hadn't been smelling the air but listening for some faint noise over the low din. There. A moan just barely audible over the sounds of the work crew building the wall.

  “Big group in bound!” SSG Kenmyre's voice easily sounded over everything else. “Work crew, keep working. Everyone else, take a knee and get ready.”

  Zombies streamed around the curve in the road, appearing from behind a clump of shrubs like video game enemies spawning—And they're every bit as relentless. Everyone on the line held their breath. The hundred or so zombies moved in a loose group. It could have been much worse, but still plenty of room for things to go sideways.

  “Alright guys, take your time, line em up and put em down,” yelled a calm voice Erik didn't recognize immediately.

  While the M-4 allows a good shooter to reach out and touch someone at more than five-hundred meters, there simply wasn't a need to do so against an enemy that wants to bite you to the exclusion of all else. They waited until the leading edge of the gory parade closed to a bit more than a hundred yards.

  “Fire at will,” the same calm voice ordered. SSG Kenmyre echoed the order. Immediately the air filled with the sharp cracks of rifle fire. Erik kept his breathing and shooting methodical, allowing a full second or two to aim. It doesn't sound like much, but behind the trigger it felt like an eternity.

  The massacre lasted less than a minute. “Ammo check!” the Lieutenant said, who Erik now recognized as the calm voice giving orders a moment ago.

  Reports of “Amber” spread down the line. Of course if you fired at all, you reported amber automatically. Eric didn't hear any reports of “red,” and that made him feel better because it meant everyone still had the majority of the ammo they started with.

  ***

  Rifle reports carry a good long way, especially when all the sounds of city life cease. With no traffic, air planes, lawn mowers or other city noises, a single rifle shot carries like thunder before a storm. Gunny Thorn and the commanders knew second platoon engaged a crowd of zombies. Guards on their wall reported the numbers they saw through scopes and ACOGs. As soon as they returned from the mission, Gunny Thorn called a meeting.

  “Scouts, I thought you said that area had a light zombie presence?” Captain Shea said as soon as everyone gathered.

  “Sir,” a squad leader Erik didn't recognize stood up, “While we were on the ground there weren't even a dozen shamblers.”

  The man sat back down. “Then what the hell happened?” Captain Shea asked, having a good idea of the answer.

  Erik raised his hand tentatively. “Sir?” Captain Shea nodded. “What is it, son?”

  “Sir, that crowd wasn't in the neighborhood. They came from downtown.” He wasn't telling the commander anything he hadn't figured out for himself. “But they didn't come looking for us until after we started cleaning off the street. I think they're attracted to the noise as much as anything else, sir.”

  “Well, if there's a wave tonight or in the morning, we'll know the truth of it. Gunny Thorn, Capt. Daniels and myself are hoping to use their attraction to noise to our advantage shortly. Gunny?”

  Thorn nodded. “Right, we have our foothold. We're looking to expand to the next neighborhood over. We've run into another hurdle. We can clean the island off all day, but until we isolate it, more zombies can show up at will. We're gonna correct this. After this brief, we'll be looking for a couple volunteers.

  “Corporal Torrent, LT Castillo says you boys have more than a hundred pounds of demo charges left.”

  “Roger Gunny.”

  “That enough to bring down a couple bridges?” Thorn knew the answer; he'd spent three hours working with the corporal and his two best demo troops discussing the bridges.

  “How small you want the pieces?”

  “Don't care about the pieces so long as the gaps can't be jumped. There's two bridges, one connecting us to the main land, the other connecting us to Plankton Key. We drop sections of Overseas Highway 1 from those bridges and we cut off any zombies that want to reach us. At the very least, we slow 'em down considerably. Then we can start the real work to clean them off this island.”

  Corporal Torrent stood up. “We'll have to rope over the side of the bridges and use cutting charges on the runners holding the road up. As you can imagine, that's gonna leave us in a pretty tight spot. We're gonna need a team to cover us, keep our ride secure and help us back up once the charges are set. Normally we'd do this all in house, but Gunny and the commanders want to limit the risk to the demo guys. So we'll take volunteers. Anyone wanna help us blow shit up?”

  Erik thought about it. No doubt the mission screamed danger, but nothing about being a Marine tends to rate high on the safety scale. On the one hand he saw no reason for limiting the number of demo guys on this run, after all this was their bread and butter. At the same time though, the survivors had a single squad of combat engineers, not including the scant few civilian contractors in the mix, losing all of them could royally screw them down the line. Erik put his hand in the air with the rest of his fire team.

  Nearly every Marine and National Guard soldier had their hands up. Gunny Thorn smiled. “I'm sad to say I only have a dozen slots.”

  ***

  J-Man sat at the prow of the forty-foot boat. Bookie sat behind him, leaning over the right rail. From where Eric sat with his back to Bookie, he couldn't see private Glover on the upper deck at all. Erik felt good with most of his fire-team getting selected to support the demo guys.

  The demo guys should feel good too. Between the best trouble snifferand the best hunter and sharp-shooter in the company with them, it doesn't get much better.

  Privates Thomas Blower and Dimitri Drakos re-checked their duffel bag of climbing ge
ar, explosives, Det-cord and other blasting supplies. Three National Guard privates, one driving and the other two for security, rounded out the boats compliment. A scant fifty feet away, a slightly larger boat paralleled them. Corporal Jon Torrent and Lance Corporal Norman Cloud from demolitions with three Marines from fourth platoon, whose names Eric missed, and three more National Guard soldiers crewed the second boat. Neither vessel had much room for the crew to move.

  Jewfish Creek Bridge finally loomed in front of them; its relatively new concrete standing out against the clouds hanging lazily overhead. They crawled from the dock behind the Command House to this point at no wake speed as much to reduce the engine noise as to give the inexperienced pilots plenty of time to avoid obstacles and sand bars.

  Blower shot up the ladder to the upper deck, “Drake, have him slow us to an idle.” Drakos stepped inside the pilot house right before the steady thrum of the engines dropped off to the rhythmic chug of idling. The other boat slowed to an idle a second later.

  With no one going to work anywhere in the world, things like the Internet started failing. A few servers still worked, but it made any sort of significant digital recon impossible. The maps Gunny Thorn and Corporal Torrent used for planning the mission amounted to road maps taken out of a luxury car before it found a new life as a section of wall.

  Eric kept his eyes on his sector which included the shore as they drifted along. Behind him, he knew, Blower and Torrent sat atop the boats with binoculars studying the bridge and looking at the maps and few photos they found, deciding which section of the bridge they wanted to drop. He didn't follow most of the rough guesswork they talked through at the briefing. The “Bang Boys” planned to use cutting charges on the long running supports under the road between pylons, and they brought every ounce of plastic explosive in their stocks.

  P for Plenty.

  With a throaty rumble, the engines stopped idling and pushed the boat toward the bridge at a crawl. Erik realized the current, however weak it seemed, pushed against the boats. He also realized if the current was enough to slow and stop the two forty-footers, it probably meant he didn't want to try to swim the little channel.

  Quickly the bridge towered over them; looking up, Erik estimated the bridge at close to seventy-five feet above the water. The pair of boats turned north, parallel to the bridge. A moment later, the base of a pylon passed close enough for Eric to reach out and touch. That made him a bit nervous, as much for the possibility of it punching a hole in the fiber glass hull as if anything happened to be camped out on the pylon, it would be right in his face.

  Whole new meaning to danger close.

  A set of on/off ramps on the north side of a small strip of land descended to just above the water level to offer travelers access to a single resort hotel and marina. During the briefing, when Gunny Thorn, the Captains and J-Man debated the best route to get the team to bridges and back, without dragging a horde behind them, one of the National Guard guys pointed to the marina and mentioned the ramps. Gunny Thorn had smiled at the prospect; after all, Marines live for amphibious assaults. Only one question remained, could they moor the boats or would the drivers have to stay at the helm to keep the boats from drifting away.

  Erik's boat trailed the other as they hugged the line of support pylons, staying as wide as possible from the shore. The ramps sloped toward the water ahead of them. Erik, Bookie and J-Man drew the lucky straws to be the first ones off the boats and rush up the ramp to secure a work area. Immediately behind them, the National Guard guys stood ready with nylon ropes to find a way to tie the boats to the landing, even if it meant anchoring to a car.

  The lead boat pulled past the on ramp on the East side and circled to the far side. Erik stood up, checking his rifle by reflex. His E-tool banged against his leg. J-man recommended everyone start carrying at least a hammer, hatchet or the issued E-tool to let them take zombies more quietly and if they ran out of ammo it would save using the rifle as a club (ballistic plastic is strong but not that strong). Everyone spent an hour or so the night before the mission adjusting their tactical belts to make room for the new weapon. It still felt a little awkward, hanging on his belt already unfolded. At least it hung low enough and tight enough to be out of the way.

  J-man and Bookie broke away from their positions to crouch behind Erik. As soon as the rail passed close to the Jersy-barrier along the edge of the ramp, Erik jumped, clearing the short wall. Immediately he scanned up both ramps and moved up the South ramp. He heard J-man land behind him followed shortly by Bookie. Erik didn't look back. He kept his rifle up and his eyes scanning through the windshields of the few abandoned vehicles. Nothing moved. Some blood stained the ground, but no where near the quantity he'd come to expect along major thoroughfares. It disturbed him slightly not to see any bodies. He knew exactly what it meant, and could only hope most of the zombies moved along the bridge toward one civilization or the other.

  His fire-teammates swept into flanking positions as they cleared along the ramp. Nothing moved, and no moans drifted to their ears. If any zombs lurked on the bridge, they stayed still and quiet. The good news, Erik felt sure the others echoed his sentiment, the Jersy-barriers offered an easy way to tie the boat, so the National Guard guys would provide additional security once they moved all the demo team's gear into position.

  The fire team found the area at the top of the ramp surprisingly clear. Away to the north a few hundred meters, traffic looked thicker, although Erik didn't see enough to account for much of the island's estimated population. Maybe a hundred meters to the South sat a mangled pile of cars spanning both lanes. They spread about ten feet apart and gave each other the clear signal. Across another set of Jersy-barriers, in what was originally the Southbound lanes, the other team cleared their area as well, giving a thumbs up for J-man.

  Everyone visibly relaxed, slowly lowering their weapons but staying alert for signs of trouble. Blower walked to the central divider to meet Torrent who shook his head slowly. They spoke in hushed voices for a moment looking at the pile-up on Blower's side of the road. As the two started moving cautiously toward the wreck, J-man paced along side them, signaling Erik to follow as well.

  “Caught a bit of luck here,” Blower said. “The pile up is adding weight to the end of a span. We can use this to help drop the bridge.” Blower moved over to the edge, leaned over to see what he could of the support structure then walked back. “Cross-member is set up to allow for inspection access. Tie off for safety and take this section?” Torrent nodded and moved to check the support structure on his side. He looked back and nodded at the junior demolitions soldier.

  They moved back toward the ramps where the National Guard soldiers waited to haul the gear bags off the boats. J-man signaled Erik to wait near Bookie to help keep things clear.

  “How long will it take to rig things up?” J-man asked as he and Blower moved down the ramp to grab the supplies he'd need to drop the bridge.

  “Working quick, I'd say about 30 minutes. We have to get everything up there, tie off safety lines, go over the side, access the underside of the bridge, place about seventy pounds worth of cutting charges, rig the timers and primary charges. Normally you'd be looking at a couple hours for safety.”

  “And normally zombies aren't an issue either.”

  Blower nodded. “Hence we're gonna set a speed record and knock it out quick as we can. And we're packing more charges than what we would if we sat down to do the math on this job. We're gonna want to be a long way from here with those detonators go.”

  The pair walked down the ramp to the waiting boat while Torrent walked down the other ramp toward his boat. Eric kept his eyes moving among the wreckage near where the Demo Team would be going over the rails. Nothing moved. None of the tell-tale moaning of the hungry undead carried on the barely palpable breeze.

  Everything stayed still as the four demo guys tied safety lines to the Jersey-barriers that divided the two lanes of traffic and dropped over the side. Bookie and Gl
over stood watch at the ramp so they could see both the road and down the ramps, securing their lines of retreat should things take a nose dive. Marines from fourth platoon mirrored the them on Southbound side. Erik, J-man, and the two National Guard soldiers kept a watchful eye past the pile up and along the lines of abandoned vehicles where possible. On the other side, a single Marine stood with three National Guard soldiers.

  Below them, working around safety lines and tight spaces, Blower, Drakos, Torrent and Cloud placed a dozen shaped charges along the support structure of the bridge. Erik didn't envy them. He much preferred the waiting where he could see trouble moving toward him and not stuck hearing sounds of battle only to have to climb into a bad situation to have a chance to make it to safety.

  From the corner of his eye, Erik saw J-man climb atop an overturned mound of metal that could have been a classic muscle car before the wreck. He turned his head so he could study J-man's expression. To the average viewer, J-man's expression never said anything. For the grunts of his squad, J-man's subtle changes in facial expression or overall posture told them more than the typical Intel report. The squad leader dropped to a knee and used his ACOG to “scout” among the stalled cars. A faint moan reached Erik's ears at the same moment J-man's posture told him something was amiss.

  J-man turned and gave a small wave to get Erik's attention. He held up one finger and signaled straight ahead. One hostile, straight ahead of their position, likely heading toward them. Erik pulled the E-tool from its D-Ring on his tactical belt and slung his rifle. He signaled back for J-man to cover him while he took care of the zombie up close.