Apocalypsis Immortuos | Book 1 | Syndrome

by de Hoogh, Marco

  “Why half?”

  Sage Enright sucked on his bottom lip for a moment. “It’s what I feared. We embedded our teams into the military, and they got dragged into missions. To be quite honest, sir, I believe that only a fraction of our military still exists.”

  Kevin opened his mouth to reply but closed it, unable to form any words. He sighed deeply and shook his head in disbelief. The room was silent for the next several moments.

  Silent, with the exception of the fan in the projector. It continued to whir. Kevin looked at the projector. The heat it was throwing off had become considerably less pleasant.

  Finally, he turned back to Sage Johnson.

  “Summarize for me. Our people. How many people do we have left? I know we went through the satellite status – just tell me the totals.” Sage Johnson grabbed his notes and found the information in short order.

  “Sir, we have 892 people left at our location.” The presenter cleared his throat. “And we estimate that there are still 6350 people at our satellite locations, including 1200 whose status is unknown.” He hesitated for a moment. “That’s out of a starting number of 9629 people.”

  Over 3000 people of the Order. A third! Gone! The grimace had returned to Kevin’s face.

  “So many lives lost...” Kevin looked at Sage Enright with a pained expression, almost as if he were pleading with the man to change his numbers. “We had a thousand soldiers out there. They were supposed to help set the next step of Brenin’s plan in motion... Is all lost?”

  None of the Sages knew how to answer that question. Kevin felt the heat of the projector blast him. It was now verging on painfully hot.

  Suddenly and without warning, the paladin leapt out of his chair. In one smooth motion, he scooped up the projector and tossed it. The two men sitting opposite cowered as the projector smashed into the wall behind them, breaking into several pieces. Sage Johnson barely managed to hold on to his laptop or it would have been dragged off the table with the projector.

  “HOW DO WE SAVE THEM, IF WE HAVE NO MILITARY?!”

  The room was silent, save for the heavily breathing Paladin. He stood with his hands on the table and slowly got his breathing under control. Several moments later, the paladin sat back down.

  The room was silent as Kevin regained his composure. He looked at each Sage in turn.

  Look what you’ve done Kevin. Now they’re afraid to speak. He berated himself.

  “Find a way.” He said softly. “Find a solution. ... And bring it to me.”

  The others sat in silence. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw them exchanging glances.

  Bereft of the heat from the projector, Kevin suddenly felt cold.

  “Get out.” It was barely more than a whisper, but the men reacted as if the Paladin had shouted the order. They jumped out of their seats and rushed out of the room, leaving Paladin Kevin Wallace in silent contemplation.

  Epilogue

  Ben

  November 4, 7:45 AM

  It was an overcast morning. The wind was gusting, growing from a low whine to a window rattling howl every now and then. Benjamin watched as all matters of debris was blown around the tarmac. Some of the items would briefly settle or catch on obstacles. Ben felt like these brief respites were akin to acts of defiance against the whims of the wind.

  For a moment, the wind died, and nothing moved. Ben sighed as he scanned the tarmac.

  So many bodies...

  They littered the tarmac. Hundreds of them.

  A new gust of wind picked up some debris again and sent it swirling in the air. Plastic bags and paper napkins leapt off their perches and continued their wind-driven dance. Ben closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the wind. It sounded angry. He leaned his forehead against the thick glass and could feel tiny vibrations as the wind assaulted the building.

  It drove Ben to deep contemplation. We think we are unmovable objects. But we’re not. We are fragile. In time even this building will collapse. And the wind will roar in victory.

  Ben felt the chill of the outside air, creeping into his forehead through the glass. He opened his eyes, pulled his head back, and with some reluctance, turned away. Ben looked at his radio. He had established radio contact with leadership several days ago. They had instructed him to wait.

  Waiting. Ben was not a fan of hurry up and do nothing. But now the waiting was finally over, and Ben was ready to move once again. His gear was ready too. All his weapons had been disassembled, cleaned, oiled and put back together. He had inventoried his ammunition and supplies – all was at optimum levels.

  Of course, that wasn’t the case a couple of days ago. So, he had gone out and scavenged off dead soldiers and hidden corners of the airport to supplement his ammunition, gear, food and water.

  In order to keep himself busy, Ben had taken the time to scrub and clean all his stuff. He had exercised and sharpened his knife and polished his boots. He had even given himself a haircut.

  Ben caught his reflection in a mirror. His hair was nice and short, but his beard had become somewhat bushy. He reached up and scratched at it.

  Maybe I should shave.

  No. Leave the beard.

  He liked how it made him look like a different person.

  Ben walked to one of his observation points and surveyed his surroundings. He had established a secure perimeter but was happy to be moving on, nevertheless. This wasn’t the best location.

  Only one way in and out. No, this was not Ben’s idea of an ideal location. But this had to be the place. The only place around here that might allow him to communicate with leadership. It had worked. He managed to establish a connection. And he got his orders.

  Stop it. You’re pacing. Ben reprimanded himself. Ben had caught himself wandering from observation point to observation point.

  His analytical mind told him that there was no need to attract undue attention to himself. There weren’t many zombies out there, but there were some...

  Ben had run in to a few on his earlier excursions. But he needed to gather gear then, so he did what he had to do. That also meant stripping dead soldiers, which Ben had more difficulties with.

  It was quite a shock to find Matheson’s body though. He remembered discovering the body and examining the cause of death. Single shot to the head from a small caliber weapon. Likely a sidearm. Likely self-inflicted.

  Ah damn, Matheson. I didn’t know you well, but you showed that were a good leader. You didn’t deserve this... Ben remembered thinking as he stood over the Captain’s corpse.

  A Captain. A real one. Not one of the Order. The admission shocked Ben and he quickly hid away the thought.

  There were surprisingly few dead soldiers lying around. An indication of their organization, tactics, and tenacity. Especially considering how things went down.

  His brigade had come in and cleared the whole place out. There were a lot more zombies than expected though...

  Ben recalled the morning of the assault.

  Chapter Sixty-three

  It was early morning on October 31st. 5:15AM to be precise. Garcia had roused Ben at 5AM. Ben was already awake anyway. The two men shared a tent that had room for four. But the other cots were empty. Just a couple of nights ago, they had buried one of their tent-mates. One of their team-mates. One of their friends. The irrepressible Collins.

  Garcia and Ben were the only ones left from their thrown-together squad. It filled Ben with sadness. And responsibility. For wasn’t this his own doing? Wasn’t he responsible for all these deaths?

  Get up soldier of the Order. Optio. Spy. Betrayer... You’ve got a job to do. Ben could brood on it no longer and got up out of his cot.

  Ben and Garcia silently put their gear on and checked their weapons. Before leaving the tent, they checked each other’s straps. They were heading to a battle. Both men realized that it might be for the last time.

  Once satisfied, both men stepped out of their shelter and out into the darkness of early dawn. The camp was buzzing
with activity. Ben and Garcia joined the stream of soldiers heading to the main muster point. Ben remembered looking around at the other soldiers, trying to detect which ones were not suffering from the syndrome, and therefore likely with the Order. So far, he had a few suspects. But his mission prevented him from making contact.

  A line of trucks and other military vehicles stood ready to take the soldiers to their destination. Ben wondered where the tank was, then realized that the last tank crew hadn’t survived the night.

  Several Gunny Sergeants organized the teams with their prospective rides, but before they embarked, they were told to stand in formation and face a hastily erected stage.

  Captain Matheson stood on the stage, along with another Captain and the head honcho; Lieutenant Colonel Shaw.

  The ‘LTC’ was a grizzled old man. He didn’t stand for pomp and ceremony, which was obvious by the way he dressed. This was no desktop general.

  An aide passed LTC Shaw a bullhorn.

  Inevitably, the first sound was a static squeaking noise, through which Ben heard Shaw utter a string of obscenities that was definitely unbefitting a man of his stature.

  The static sound faded. “All right boys. Be at ease.” Sounded from the bullhorn. This was followed by the sound of about two hundred soldiers getting into more comfortable positions.

  Shaw looked at his men from his raised dais. His face bore little emotion. Ben could see a permanent grimace on the countenance of the old man. Shaw raised the bullhorn back to his mouth.

  “You boys have done an admirable job the last few days. You’ve done it without complaint and without question. I want to tell you that you’ve done good. I want to tell you that you’ve done what all them higher-ups never had the balls to do. You did what you had to.”

  A brief pause as Shaw thought about his words.

  “What we’re doing here, is what’s required of us. We’re exterminating as much of the threat to those few remaining healthy folks as we can. They won’t thank you for it! But I am.”

  “And all that, when every one of us is suffering the same effects. I’ve seen men volunteer to be shot, so that they will not become a threat to their brothers in arms. Now that’s what I call true loyalty and honor. I’ve been around. Trust me, I’ve seen it all. I’ve tried to be loyal and honourable. Fuck.” Shaw grimaced with distaste. “Enough to have my own career shit on several times. But I would rather hang with you boys any day! It beats kissing ass and collecting stars.”

  He paused again and shook his head slightly

  “Sorry boys, I’m rambling.”

  He looked at his men now. He really looked. Ben felt Shaw’s eyes meet his, just like everybody else must have. Only, Ben had to drop his gaze.

  You’re a disgrace, and not worth this!

  Shaw continued talking. “I think that today’s mission might just be our last.”

  “We will throw another mission at you tomorrow, should we still be a battle-effective unit.”

  His voice and manner told his troops that he didn’t expect that to happen though.

  “For today, you will be under the leadership of Captains Matheson and Horner here –” Shaw indicated the Captains with a small wave of his hand.

  “Both good men. Glad they are still with us. I think we just might have outlasted all the pencil pushing oxygen thieves!” For the first time Shaw showed a hint of amusement as Ben watched the officer grin.

  The grin faded fast.

  “We’re tackling the airport today, boys. Matheson and Horner will take charge in the field. The primary goal is to remove all tangoes. The secondary goal is to minimize damage to the airport itself. We want that airport to be functional for future use.”

  Shaw sighed once. The old man’s face was permanently set in a scowl, but his eyes betrayed some sadness.

  “You’re good men. And damn fine soldiers. Thank you. I appreciate what you are doing.”

  Just like that the moment of weakness passed. “We got a job to do, boys, and we’re going to get it done. I expect a successful mission, and all of you soldiers back here at camp this evening. Good luck. ... Dismissed.”

  He turned away, to the aggressive sounds of Sergeants getting their troops mounted up into the vehicles. The only armor they had was the half-tons with their 50cal guns.

  We got no Ass, as they say. Ben thought as he followed Garcia to the back of a truck.

  Ben got a hand up onto the back of the military truck. He shuffled down and took his spot, just like he’d been taught. Garcia sat to his left. Across from him sat another soldier. ‘Johansson’ his name badge read. Next to him there was ‘Simons’. Then ‘Chang’. Then ‘Lewis’, and then ‘Akimbe’. Ben looked at all the men, read their names, and offered a silent apology.

  Hi, my name is Brown. Sorry about all this. I’m with the group responsible for the death of your wife, your children, your mom... You.

  The truck started moving, jostling the soldiers as they drove out of the compound and on to the uneven dirt road. The sun was little more than a brighter patch of horizon in a midnight blue sky.

  It was several minutes later that Ben stiffened suddenly. He sensed that he was being watched. He looked across the aisle at Johansson. The soldier was staring back at him with an intense look. Ben felt as if Johansson was looking right through him.

  He knows! Ohmygod-ohmygod whatdoIdo!

  “Hey... Brown.”

  Too late.

  “You got a wife? Kids?”

  “Um ... No.” Ben stumbled over the words.

  Johansson just nodded and continued.

  “She told me... She said go see the kids. They won’t understand. So, I went to see them. She was right. They didn’t understand. My little girl got so mad at me that she hit me and ran off...”

  Johansson put his hand on a spot just above his bicep, remembering the last physical contact he had with his daughter.

  He stared off into space for several moments. Ben could see him struggling with his emotions.

  “I think... If we make it through today–” The guy two seats over from him – Chang – put his hand on Johansson’s knee and shook his head, warning him not to say what he was about to say.

  You’re going AWOL, aren’t you. You’re going home. Do it, Johansson. You’ve done enough already.

  Johansson swallowed his words. He looked over at Chang with a mixture of spite and gratefulness, clamped his mouth shut, and didn’t say another word for the entire ninety-minute drive.

  TAT TAT TAT TAT TAT.

  Ben came back to the present. It had started to rain. The wind caught the rain every once in a while, making it patter against the glass in the observation tower. The sound was irregular yet strangely soothing.

  Wind, silence, wind, tat tat tat tat tat. Silence, wind, tat tat tat tat tat.

  The sound reminded Ben of the battle and all the bullets.

  A veritable gale of bullets.

  The convoy of trucks had parked about half a mile from the airport, along a back road. The soldiers had disembarked and been led to the staging area.

  The plan was fairly simple. The first fire team, under the command of Captain Horner, consisted of the two light armoured vehicles, or LAVs.

  The vehicles, mounted with M2 ‘Fitty’ guns, would approach from the main entrance of the airport. The fifty caliber machine guns would make short work of any approaching enemy. They would be supported by an additional twenty soldiers, whose job it was to prevent any flanking or situations where the undead could get too close.

  The entrance to the airport would conveniently act as a funnel, drawing the undead into the meat grinder.

  An additional four Humvees would he close by to provide fall-back mobility. The noise of this assault would draw all the undead towards their location, which would also be the signal for the main force, fire team two, to enter the stage.

  They were to enter the airport grounds through a secondary gate near the end of a runway, haul ass to center stage as it were, and
set up a base of fire from which teams would set out to secure their prospective positions and clear out their assigned targets.

  Everybody knew what their job was. If the last couple of days were anything to go by, this would be a breeze.

  Except, it wasn’t.

  BEN AND GARCIA WERE part of fire team two. They had moved out from their position in high spirits. The sound of those 50 Cal’s blazing away were a true comfort.

  The gate was small, so that held them up a little longer than they expected. But the continuing sound of the M2’s let them know that everything was still going according to plan.

  Except that this enemy didn’t follow regular rules of engagement. Except that things were actually not going according to plan. But fire team two would not know that, until they got their radio set up at their base of fire.

  So, it was unknown to the main battle group, that the first fire team had issues almost at once. They got to position, but one Ma Deuce jammed early on during the assault. On top of that, the number of undead was far beyond expectations. Within minutes, a solid mass of undead was pressing in on the pocket of men and machines.

  The second gun blazed away. Human bodies were being turned to mush. But the gun could not cover all angles. Also, this assailant knew no fear. They loped at their target with no regard to danger. But their number was too great...

  A crowd of zombies was able to get too close. Horner organized a team of soldiers to try to hold the line, but the nearer the zombies got, the less headshots were being made.

  Zombies overwhelmed the line, then the first LAV. The second LAV started backing up but backed right into one of the Humvees. The zombies were all over them before anybody had a chance to react. A few quick-thinking men jumped into the parked Humvees and locked themselves in. They were stuck though. Captain Horner was torn apart.

  The base of fire had barely been set up when things got quiet. Knowing looks were exchanged between Matheson and his second in command, a Gunny Sergeant named Beasley. Radio communications confirmed the situation.