Soldier On: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (27 page)

Duncan kept up a steady pace weaving in and out of tight spots.
Thank God
, he thought,
this isn’t a rental,
as the screeching of metal on metal sounded inside the truck. It reminded him of fingernails on a chalkboard. Duncan despised the sound; the only thing worse was the fingernails of the dead scrabbling on the outside of the armored truck.

Cade was resting his eyes and on the periphery of sleep when Vincent’s voice pulled him back.

“Check out these things. They’re peepholes or something.” Vincent unlatched the two inch square portal nearest him and moved his face closer to peek outside.

“Not a good idea soldier,” Cade snatched the young private by the elbow and pulled him away. One second later and he would have gotten the Three Stooges treatment.

A single grimy finger poked through the hole and blindly rooted around.

“Almost lost an eye there,
Curly
, that’s a firing port,” Cade said as he snapped the hatch shut, forcing the pasty digit to retreat.

“Th..th..thanks...I should a known. C..c..can I shoot that nosy f..f..f.fucker” Vincent stuttered.

Daymon sat reclined in the passenger seat with his head tilted back. His eyes were shut in an attempt to keep the monsters on the other side of the glass from becoming fodder for future nightmares. “Save the bullets Vinnie... if this truck goes tits up, we’ll need all four of them, one for each of us.”

Outbreak Day 7

I-25

“Sir, we have a contact.  Slow mover...looks to be paralleling I-25.”

Staff Sergeant Brody Johnson had only been back in the states for two days; already he had seen more combat in Colorado Springs than he had in two tours in Iraq. Although he hadn’t been shot at yet, he had seen more Zs amassed in one place than he could fathom and unlike the insurgent’s shoot and scoot mentality, once they saw you, the dead were like the Eveready Bunny, they kept coming. It was a difficult transition for the hard charging young commander, but he sensed he was turning the corner.

When they landed at Schriever there was no down time at all-he and his crew had been thrust back into action the moment their boots hit the ground. The Bradley fighting vehicle he commanded still had Middle Eastern sand stuck in every nook and cranny, the engine was running poorly and required maintenance.

The Bradley was perched atop an elevated dirt berm inside the fencing on the northwest corner of Schriever AFB. The lone vehicle was responsible for guarding a big swath of the base. A quick reaction force standing by was ready and could assist anywhere on the perimeter they were needed.

The staff sergeant hailed “Springs,” the new Capital of the United States. “Golem Actual, Golem Six-One here, how copy?”

“Go ahead, Six-One.”

“Golem Actual-be advised we have an inbound vehicle, two klicks outside of grid November-Whisky-One-Two. Vehicle appears to be a two axle delivery truck. I see three, possibly four thermal hits inside. How copy?”

“Copy that, observe and report, Golem Actual out.”

Golem Six-Ones gunner tracked the vehicle until it disappeared behind an obstruction. “I lost him in the clutter,” Wilkes responded sounding irritated.

Fifty feet from the dirt berm, right outside the wire, a handful of zombies quietly milled about. The moment they noticed the vehicle commander move atop the Bradley, they started moaning.

“When you get a clean line of sight flash them,” the track commander ordered his gunner.

“Copy that Sir.”

Sergeant Wilkes kept his face pressed to the optics mast. “Sir, the vehicle didn’t reappear.”

“If memory serves-isn’t there an eighteen wheeler blocking that underpass?” commander Brody asked.

“The engineers were worried that the supports were going to fail so they left it for the time being,” Wilkes answered.

***

The survivors surged to the base on Z-day plus one, many had already been bitten and had to be quarantined. Within twelve hours every one of them turned. B.J. heard second hand how hard it was on the soldiers to put thousands of them down. Many of the men recognized loved ones or members of their community, making the job all the more difficult. Over the last two days survivors had stopped showing up altogether.

Staff Sergeant Brody Johnson felt a strong urge to go help the travellers.
The human race
, he thought,
was quickly becoming an endangered species
.

***

“This is Golem Actual, Golem Six-One requesting permission to assist civilian survivors, how copy?”

“Roger that. How many Zs are at your AO?”

“Only fifteen, Golem Six-One out.”

“Golem Actual, notify Golem Six-Two that you are going off base. Sit-rep every five mikes. How copy?”

“Roger that, Golem Six-One out.

“Wilkes, hand me up the quiet carbine.”

The black SCAR rifle emerged butt stock first. B.J. charged the weapon and sighted on the nearest Z. He flicked off the safety and said, “Night, night,” with as much compassion as he could muster. His finger tightened on the trigger.
Breathe, squeeze easy....pop
. The suppressed rifle was extremely quiet; the first zombie hitting the ground drew more attention than the actual sound the kill shot made leaving the rifle.

The staff sergeant had an excellent firing position from the Bradley cupola; one by one he sent the rest of the monsters to a final dirt nap.

***

The Bradley vibrated violently one time, like a dog shaking water from its coat. The exhaust pipe belched black smoke and the engine finally turned over. A clunk from the transfer case indicated that Specialist Cooley was about to back them off of the earthen berm.

Commander Johnson sprang from the top of the Bradley to let them through the secondary fence, the track easily negotiated the tight turn. Johnson scanned the area outside of the primary fence for ghouls, satisfied all was still clear, he opened up and followed the tracked vehicle outside of the wire. As quick as humanly possible, with imaginary zombies nipping at his heels, Johnson locked the fence up and vaulted atop his Bradley.

Specialist Cooley steered the armored vehicle along a maintenance road intersecting the freeway. In a few short minutes they were moving south and dodging stalled cars on I-25.

“I have the vehicle in sight. It isn’t moving sir and...there are Zs all over.”

“Light em up Wilkes,” ordered SSGT Johnson.

Electric motors whined as the turret rotated on target.

***

Duncan slowed the heavy vehicle down; when the headlights illuminated the mangled semi he stepped on the brakes and brought them to a complete stop. The tractor was wedged against the overpass supports; the double trailer connected to it was jackknifed, blocking all four lanes.

“Dagnabbit,” drawled Duncan as he searched for reverse.

Daymon opened one eye and peered at Duncan. “Is that the best one you’ve got? I’ve heard nuns pop off better.”

“Mind your business and spot for me.”

Bang
. Something heavy slammed onto the roof. The two men in the front seat flinched and looked up as if they could see through quarter inch plate. A zombie tumbled down onto the engine cowl and crushed its face onto the windshield.

 Zombies were mindlessly pushing each other off of the roadway above, the armored trucks idling engine and intense headlights were an irresistible lure. Every time one of the creatures swan dived atop the armored car the resulting impact was amplified ten fold inside.

“
Get us out of here...now
.” Cade yelled. They were on the verge of being trapped; killing himself with his own Glock was not an option.

“
I’m trying
.” The vehicle finally started creeping backwards.

Daymon feigned a look at each mirror. “Ok, spotting for the driver. On the left...we have
zombies
. On the right...we have
zombies
. Can one of you guys look out the back...I’m sure there are
zombies
back there also.”

“I don’t need smartass remarks. I can’t see a fucking thing. What’s blocking us in?” Duncan was losing his cool.

“Like I said...
zom...
”

Staccato bursts of heavy machinegun fire bounced off of the cement walls and roof of the underpass. The fireworks show lit up the night on both sides of the truck. Daymon’s face appeared demonic, bathed in red from the flashes of light. He had been in mid-sentence about to push Duncan’s buttons some more, when the flesh-eaters surrounding them started disintegrating before his eyes. Bits and pieces of zombie bounced off of the walls, the tractor trailer rig was being splattered with flying chunks of decaying flesh and fractured bone. Toxic bodily fluids painted the sides of the double trailer and ran off in yellow and red rivulets.

“Wh..whos sh..shooting at us?” Vincent’s disembodied voice asked from somewhere in the dark.

“Those are tracers from a large machine gun...someone’s saving our asses,” Cade answered, while he twisted his head struggling to see where the fire was coming from.

As quickly as it started it was over and once again quiet and dark below the underpass.

Duncan revved the engine and felt the truck start crawling in reverse up the slight incline. It was a bumpy ride; the fallen zombies were bursting under the weight of the Wells Fargo truck. Duncan successfully choreographed a three point turn before the armored truck grudgingly delivered them the final thirty yards uphill. Duncan had no idea what to expect or who their saviors were. A pinpoint of light flashed off to the right shoulder of the Interstate.

“What do you make of that?” Daymon asked.

Duncan nervously checked the mirrors while dabbing beads of sweat from his forehead. “My Morse code is rusty...I think the first letters were F-O...”

“
Follow them
,” Cade ordered.

“To the point my brother,” Daymon let his gaze lock with Cade’s.

Cade processed the silent interaction. He wasn’t able to decipher whether it was a silent challenge or if he was Daymon being Daymon. After all, the man was good at acting abrasive.

“Can’t be any worse than staying put and letting ourselves get surrounded again,” Duncan added as he engaged the transmission. The armored truck lurched forward and they blindly followed the tracked vehicle.

From the brief glance of the silhouette Cade surmised it was a Bradley fighting vehicle, and since it was rolling solo they had to be close to their base. He had a feeling that he was going to get some sort of closure, one way or the other, in the coming hours.

***

The Bradley sped east on the gravel two lane road. Duncan had his hands full trying to keep up. They were running with the lights on, but the dust being kicked up by the tracked vehicle made their headlights virtually ineffective.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” Cade noticed that Vincent had somehow shed the stutter, but decided not to mention it to him.

“We’re on a United States military reservation. I noticed surveillance domes spaced a few hundred yards apart on the perimeter fencing, standard United States base security. The same stuff went up everywhere after the 9/11 attacks.”

A building loomed, it looked like a very large bomber hanger. Cade had been on airbases like this all over the world. The pieces were falling in place...they had finally arrived at Schriever AFB in Colorado Springs.

The hangar doors parted only wide enough to allow the two vehicles entry; brilliant fluorescent lights illuminated the interior of the expansive hangar. The building was designed to be large enough to service two C-5 Galaxys at the same time.

Cade noted that several prefab buildings were erected inside of the hangar. Multiple rows of empty hospital beds also drew his attention, they stretched the length of the hangar, spaced uniformly like the grave markers at Arlington; Cade estimated they numbered in the hundreds. “If this is a quarantine building gentlemen...clearly someone was anticipating a lot more survivors.”

Two men in full level four bio hazard suits motioned for Duncan to stop the truck.

“Looks like were going to get the once over,” drawled Duncan as he shut off the engine.

“It’s in our best interest to cooperate. Be ready to relinquish any weapons. It’s most likely their SOP to disarm, disrobe and disinfect us,” Cade said, just trying to be realistic.

“Wow boss. You make it sound like a fuckin spa treatment,” Daymon retorted.

Cade took note as three soldiers dismounted their M2 Bradley and joined the welcoming party. Two of the three were armed with SCAR carbines held at the low-ready position. Cade figured they were being cautious in case anyone in his group suddenly died and reanimated.

“Gentlemen are any of you armed?” The soldier speaking to them was a staff sergeant; he was obviously the commander and the highest ranking of the three. Cade couldn’t see his uniform well enough to discern his unit, but he was Army.

Duncan took the lead. “Yes Sir, but we’re low on ammunition. Thanks for saving my ass...our asses back there. It was looking a little hopeless for us.”