Wade Marshall
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Captain Derek Gaines and his alpha team had been stateside for less than a week after a twelve-month deployment in Afghanistan. They had been immediately shuffled off to D.C. to glad-hand the politicians and give them a break-down of the vehicles, equipment, and personnel that made up the team. They were to explain their role in Afghanistan, and answer any questions the big wigs had about their unit. It was all supposed to culminate with a small military parade where they would be the guest of honor. They had been given four GMVs (Ground Mobility Vehicles), which were similar to the standard Army Humvee except they had heavier suspension, higher ground clearance, more powerful engines, and a flatbed in back for better storage and hauling capacity. Two of the GMVs had a forwards M2 .50 caliber machine gun, affectionately known as the Ma Deuce, and a rear mounted M240 7.62 belt-fed machine gun. They also had a front and rear mounted smoke grenade launcher. The other two were outfitted with a Mk47 grenade launcher forwards and a Mk48 Mod 0 which was a Special Operations variant of the M249 Squad Automatic Weapon (SAW) 5.56 light machine gun mounted on the rear. They too had forwards and rear mounted smoke grenade launchers.
They had gotten about halfway through the parade route when the city had gone into pandemonium. The streets were lined with people as far as the eye could see. Derek caught a disturbance from the corner of his eye and witnessed a young woman in her twenties tackling a man and sinking her teeth into his throat. Several bystanders pulled the young woman away from her victim. The woman immediately turned and launched herself at the man holding her right arm, biting down on his shoulder. He instinctively released the woman and she leapt upon the second man and bit him on the face. The initial victim then rose up and began assaulting those trying to render first aid.
The high school marching band ahead of Derek's men in the parade were focused on their performance and did not see the two men, who had attempted to restrain the woman who initiated the mayhem, come running into the midst of the marching band's drill team. The men each pounced on the first of the young ladies who were twirling their wooden rifles at dizzying speeds. Suddenly the other side of the street also broke into chaos. People screamed and ran in every possible direction. The parade participants and viewers alike tried to run to safety. The number of attackers rose each passing second.
"Weapons ready!" Derek shouted above the noise.
The men in the following GMVs saw their fellow squad member pulling up his M4, preparing to defend the vehicle, and followed suit. Derek looked over to his driver, Z-Dog, and pointed to a side alley that was, for the moment, open. Without hesitation, Z-Dog put the vehicle in motion. The other GMVs followed their leader and were soon tearing down the alley, which had just enough room for them to pass.
Derek contacted command at Fort McNair and learned the facility was currently besieged by the flesh-eating cannibals they had witnessed along the parade route. Derek directed Z-Dog to make for McNair. When the GMV popped out of the alley onto 12th Street, Derek could see that the infected were spreading at an alarming rate. The team turned onto Maine Avenue. A cluster of soldiers were fighting for their lives against a large mob of the attackers. Derek motioned for his team to move their vehicles in close, to form a defensive perimeter. Like the well-oiled machine they were, Derek's men moved the vehicles into position and began dispatching the infected to assist their fellow soldiers. After the last of the dead were dispatched, there were only three soldiers still standing. Derek asked them if anyone had been bitten during the fight. They all replied with a negative. He ordered them to mount up and they once again set out for McNair.
The team came upon three more detachments of soldiers who had been dispatched from McNair to re-con the reports of aggressive civilians attacking. Two of the groups had joined the ranks of the dead and the third had two men left standing who had not been bitten. Derek instructed them to fall in with his team and follow them to McNair. The survivors did not hesitate to fire up their Humvee and follow the SF ODA to what they thought would be the safety of the base.
As Derek's team approached the gates of Fort McNair, the hostiles were already crawling all over the base like ants on a sticky treat. A cacophony of small arms fire was coming from within the compound. It was mayhem inside the perimeter as those who had once been soldiers were pulling down their brothers in arms, spreading the disease. There were two Strykers at the front gates fighting a pitched battle against a massive horde of infected that were creeping closer and closer. Derek tried multiple times to raise command on the radio. Finally, with no answers, he radioed his second-in-command and told him they were bugging out. They would collect as many soldiers as they could along the way, but D.C. looked to be a total fluster cluck.
Derek yelled up to the men manning the Strykers and ordered them to fall in with his group. He looked over at Z-Dog and told him to move out to Route 66 heading west. Wasting no time, the convoy began making their way back down Maine Ave., now trying to escape Crystal City. Their route was quickly becoming harder to navigate. The amount of infected were multiplying so fast, it seemed each minute that passed they increased ten-fold.
Finding multiple groups of soldiers that had been torn apart by the infected, Derek knew that getting out of D.C. had to be his primary concern. He had seen enough no-win scenarios to know D.C. was a lost cause. There wasn't enough organized firepower in the city to reverse the horrible tide of undead rolling over everything in its path. They would help whomever they could on their way out, but they had to keep focused on escaping the city and putting some distance between them and high population areas.
It weighed heavily on Derek. He was never one to run from a fight. He had served his country for twenty years and never shirked a duty. This was something altogether different, though. If he kept his men in D.C., it would only be a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. This was not a traditional enemy. He had seen some of the infected take as many as six rounds center mass and rise to their feet again. He and his men quickly realized the only way to put the undead down for good was to hit them in the head.
Derek's group of surviving soldiers fought their way all through the city. The big guns on the vehicles as well as the small arms each of his men carried were hard pressed to keep a path cleared to allow them to continue moving. Several times the Strykers had to take the lead to plow through congested areas where the infected had bottle-necked their progress. Thankfully, the on-ramp for Interstate 495 came into view. They had picked up twenty soldiers on their flight from the city. Now their convoy consisted of the four GMVs, two Strykers, and three Hummers. Derek pulled out his cell to give his friend Wade Marshall a call to let him know they would be coming his way.
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The GMVs, along with the other vehicles they had picked up in the city, rumbled down I-495 out of D.C. heading towards Route 66. The team had had a hell of a time getting out of the city. They had left Fort McNair at noon, and now it was 3:00 p.m. and they were only about five miles out. They had passed numerous groups of their fellow Army brethren on the way out of the city, very few still alive. Most of the ones still on their feet were no longer of the living variety; they had become the enemy. The team had managed to assist three detachments on their way out of the city and now those men were part of the convoy fleeing the overrun capitol. Derek had given his men orders to dispatch any undead soldiers as they stopped at each group of vehicles and collected any salvageable equipment and weapons. Initially, Chief Warrant Officer Josiah Sanford (Bull) had disagreed with Derek's decision to bug out and head for rural Virginia, but after encountering the sixth patrol that had been wiped out he came around to Derek's line of thinking quickly.
“Hallelujah, there’s the exit for 66!" Derek shouted to his driver, Staff Sergeant Zachary Gentry, the team’s assistant weapons sergeant, better known as Z-Dog.
"Gotcha, Cap. I sure hope it clears up a little once we get there," Z-Dog complained.
"We probably have another f
ifteen miles before we start to see this congestion lighten up," Derek said.
Traffic was moving at a snail’s pace due to the vehicles that had been abandoned in the road. It was obvious that many of the drivers had succumbed to the illness. People were having to navigate through an obstacle course to keep moving. Like any other day on the freeway, there were drivers who completely disregarded all the others on the road. They weaved recklessly in and out of traffic, cutting off anyone who got in their way.
"Use whatever you have to, Z-Dog, best possible time median shoulder, whatever it takes," Derek ordered.
"Copy that, Cap," Z-Dog said with a grin.
No sooner had the words left his mouth, Z-Dog had to stand on the brakes, bringing the GMV to a screeching halt. Cars in front of them suddenly stopped in their tracks. Derek watched as a rotund gentleman rolled out of his car, cursing and screaming at the driver in front of him. The man foolishly yanked the driver’s side door open, only to have the driver lunge for his throat, taking his Adam's apple in one vicious bite. After the fat man fell to the pavement, blood spraying like a geyser, the once-living driver devoured his flesh as fast as he could rip it away.
"Get us the hell out of here, Z-Dog."
Turning to the Gunnery-Sergeant First Class Emilio (Taco) Garza, the other weapons sergeant of the group, Derek pointed to the melee.
"Taco, punch their tickets," Derek instructed.
Without hesitation, Taco Garza brought up his M4 and gave both men a shot to the head. Taco dropped several more of the infected who chased groups of civilians. Many of the people saw the military vehicles and abandoned the relative safety of their cars to try to reach the soldiers. The team pulled out as many as they could. Taco provided overwatch for his squad and dropped the aggressors with mechanical consistently. Ultimately, there were just too many and they cut off the survivors who remained.
"Way to reach out and touch someone, Taco," Z-Dog said, steering the GMV into the median to get mobile again.
The team continued on, seeing similar scenes play out for the next fifteen miles. The gunners in each of the GMVs took out any infected that they could as long as they did not have to deviate from their course. The men saved quite a few people in that short distance who would surely have fallen prey to the monsters. Now the military convoy had six civilian vehicles following closely. Once they cleared Manassas, Virginia, the road became noticeably less crowded and they were able to maintain a much higher speed.
Derek glanced at his watch. They had spent five-and-a-half hours traveling a mere twenty miles. He hoped the Marshall farm would be spared from anything this bad. He had a sinking feeling that things were going to get a lot worse though, even in the rural areas of the country.
Derek was torn. While he was grateful he was so close to the Marshalls and would be able to help keep them safe, he was worried about his family, as well as those of his men. As soon as Derek had realized this wasn't an isolated event and that it was happening all across the country, he got on the phone to his wife Marsha and his brother Richard. He gave Richard directions to the Marshall farm and told him to load up with whatever supplies he could and move out as soon as possible.
His team had made similar calls. His team’s families would gather as a group then make the trek from North Carolina to Virginia. Hopefully his family and those of his men would make it to Virginia safe and sound. They were going to have a long and dangerous trip traveling that far. He had faith his brother could keep them safe until they were together again.
Out of the twelve-man team, only Taco Garza and Mitchell Rafferty, better known as Bones, had a wife and children. Z-Dog had a sister who would be making the trip with the team’s families. Staff Sergeant Clint Cooper, nicknamed aptly “Cowboy”, was the assistant medical sergeant. He had a brother and sister, along with their families who were coming as well. The team’s communications officers, David Flynn "Static", and his assistant Wallace Crane, both had family on the west coast but neither had been able to make contact with anyone yet.
CHAPTER FOUR
O Brother Where Art Thou
Brothers are a unique relationship. There are times when brothers can be each other’s biggest rival. There are usually plenty of arguments, as well as some knock-down, drag-out fights. No matter how often that happens though, if someone outside the family threatens you, your brother will be there standing beside you, ready to face any challenge. There is a special bond between brothers that no amount of disagreement can break. My brothers and I have always been close. Like all brothers, we have had arguments resulting in periods of the silent treatment, when one of us needed to cool off. Ultimately, we are always there for each other. I need that now more than ever.
Wade Marshall
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Wade dialed Jessie again on the way to Winchester, with the same result as his previous attempts. He hoped the kid was okay. About a mile from the west side of Winchester, Wade realized things had gone downhill in a hurry from just a few hours before. Route 7 coming out of Winchester was a car graveyard. An overturned truck about a mile out was the culprit as it had caused some major gridlock. Wade noticed a lot of blood on the abandoned vehicles and a shiver went up his spine. The westbound side was not as bad, but they still had to navigate around many obstacles. Wade pulled his Glock from under the seat and laid it beside him on the console. Jerry, taking his brother’s cue, grabbed his SRM 1216 tactical shotgun from the backseat. He released the magazine and loaded the mag tubes with shells. The SRM semi-automatic held sixteen shells. Wade whistled as he checked out the shotgun.
"I bet that baby set you back a little," Wade said, still admiring the gun.
"Brother, this is the best twenty-five hundred I ever spent," Jerry said with a smile.
As they entered the city proper, the streets were teeming with infected and abandoned vehicles. It wasn't going to be an easy thing making it to the north side of town. People were moving aimlessly about in the parking lots and off the side of the road. Many were wearing blood-stained clothes. There were several who had horrific wounds on their neck, chest, and face.
"I just can't believe this," Wade muttered.
"I know what you mean. Who would have thought this kind of thing could actually happen," Jerry said, shaking his head.
"And so fast. This is unbelievable. Look how many of those things there are, and we just came through here a few hours ago," Wade said as he watched hundreds of the dead walking around.
Wade turned into a Shell station that looked abandoned. Parking in front of the pumps, he was happy the lights were still on and the pumps were functional.
"We may as well fill up while the pumps are working. Who knows how long the power will last. Grab the cans out of the back, then cover us while I fill," Wade said as he opened his door.
He inserted his debit card and was greeted with the prompt for his pin. He began fueling up the car, his eyes moving constantly, watching for any possible danger.
Jerry set down six five-gallon cans then took up position at the rear of the Rover to keep watch. Several people moved around inside the store. After catching Wade's attention, his brother pointed to the doors. Wade looked over and crouched down so not to be in direct view of the infected inside and directed Jerry to do the same. With the Rover topped off, Wade started on the five-gallon cans and was just filling the last of them when a bell rang, and the glass door slammed against the building.
"We have company, Wade," he said, standing and taking aim at the first of the dead shambling towards them.
Wade watched Jerry draw down at a rather robust lady who had on a Subway uniform that was stained dark with blood. She made eye contact with Jerry, and with a combination of a hiss and a growl she ambled a little faster towards him. The way she moved was as if she didn't have full control of her body.
The blast from Jerry’s shotgun knocked the big woman on her ass, taking the two undead behind her to the pavement as well. She began scrambling to her feet immediately. The h
ole in the Subway apron clearly indicated Jerry’s shot had taken her center mass.
Wade shouted to Jerry. “Aim for the head.” He quickly loaded the gas cans into the back of the Rover, while blasts from Jerry’s shotgun continued to sound off.
"Guess Hollywood got something right for a change with the whole headshot thing," Jerry said to Wade.
"Well, that shotgun is effective, but it is also drawing the dead like flies on shit. Let’s get while the getting is good," Wade said, slamming the back of the Rover closed and dropping the next closest rot-bag coming towards them.
He pulled out of the station and headed for downtown just as the first of the dead slapped their hands against the back glass of the Range Rover. Wade traveled down Berryville Ave., dodging vehicles and walking corpses the whole way. He even resorted to using front yards of some of the houses to bypass the worst areas of the road. He turned left on Pleasant Valley Drive and then right on Cork Street, which led downtown to where Jessie's apartment was located. Wade crested the hill on Cork Street, which had a commanding view of the downtown area, and slammed on the brakes. Jerry pitched forwards, straining against the seatbelt and looked out over the city center below. The streets were teeming with shambling bodies, the dead were sidewalk to sidewalk in some places. There must have been hundreds of once-living people clogging the road.
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