The Swamp (5 page)

             
There was a pause, presumable while the sergeant relayed the orders, before his voice came back. “Unable captain, the truck is gone, that bastard Clarke left us here. He just left me here. I’m the only one left”

             
“Understood, stand by.” The captain turned to his second, a burly lieutenant named McCartney.

             
“Lieutenant, Take three men and get in that other truck. Bring me back my man.”

             
“Yes sir! Ace, Simmons and Harris, let’s go.” Responded the lieutenant and started for the door.

             
On the radio, the soldier came back,” I’m out of ammo, there are just to damn many of them, I can’t …” his voice turned to a screams before eventually cutting out.

             
The lieutenant had stopped at the door to listen, but again snapped “you heard the man, let’s go!”

             
“Belay that, it’s too late.”

             
“But captain we can still get out there,” objected one of the men.

             
“No son, it’s over, nothing there to find but a corpse, I can’t risk what I have left for body recovery.” The captain hung his head and stormed from the room and into the front yard.

             
Not long after, the truck could be heard coming down the county road that lead to the farm. The captain met it as soon as it was inside the gates.

             
“What the holy hell is wrong with you Clarke, you just ran off and left those people to die?” bellowed the captain as the soldier climbed down from the cab.

             
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help them. I saw them coming down the road and knew I had to get out of there. I yelled for them to get in the truck…” sniveled the young specialist.

             
“You yelled for them? Was this before or after your cowardly ass was a mile away with the gas lever to the floor?” The captain drew his side arm and slammed its butt into the side of the cowards face, crumpling him to the ground. “I should have you against that wall for a firing squad!”

             
The soldier lay on the ground and sobbed, muttering apologizes and begging for mercy. The gathered soldiers stared down in disgust. One went as far as to spit.

             
“What do we do with him,” asked the lieutenant eventually “can we shoot his ass, sir?”

             
“We should, but no. I can’t have any cowards in my unit. See that he is stripped of his weapons and gear. And show him his way off my farm.” He then rounded on Clarke and put his finger in the face of the now terrified man, “but if I ever see you again, here or anywhere else, I will shoot you myself.”

             
His pronouncement done, he turned and walked back inside as his orders were carried out. The sudden silence was almost deafening for the short time it lasted.  Within the hour, the century posts sent in reports of large numbers of infected following the road the truck had come in on, hundreds of them. The radio had given news that in the absence of food, the infected would follow vehicles, forming groups of hundreds. The scouting parties had been lucky enough to avoid these, until now. Returning vehicles had always followed a circuitous route when returning to the compound.

             
“Not just a coward but a damn fool as well, he drove straight back here, and he may have killed us all. Corporal, get back on that radio and tell those sentries to get back here double time. We are going to need every gun we can get. Get the survivors back to safety and get ready.” Robertson’s words started a frenzy of activity.

             
“We could just run captain, load up and get out of here.” The second in command suggested.

             
The captain thought for a moment and responded “We don’t have enough vehicles. We are almost fifty seats short.”

             
“You know I didn’t mean to take them” responded the lieutenant with a head nod towards the barn.”

             
Anger returned to the captain’s face. “I’ve already gotten rid of one coward today; do you want to join him? You have your orders!”

             
A menacing look filled the face as the other officer snapped “yes Sir!” and rushed off.

             
This conversation seen through the open front door of the house filled the ladies with dread before another soldier rushed them out the back door.

             
Panic filled the hearts of the people on the farm. The civilians were brusquely shoved into the barn, and a rattling of chains told them they were locked in. Angry shouts could be heard, but not understood. A short time later, explosions began to ring up and down the road that one old veteran explained was probably claymores. Soon after the sounds of automatic gunfire punctuated the silence, sporadic at first and increasing in intensity until the metal walls of the barn echoed with it. It drew closer and closer, until it seemed to be coming from all sides. The survivors trembled in the barn for what felt like hours as the noise and explosions rose and fell, Screams could now be heard and the fighting sounded closer than ever.

             
The chains rattled again and the door was flung open to reveal the captain, pistol in hand. “We are over run, any able bodied person, grab what weapons you can and help, please!” The please caught her off guard.

             
Almost everyone including her and Mark could feel the desperation in the air and had grabbed farm tools to rushed out to join the combat. The farm was littered with bodies, and everywhere the dead moved. In several places, they were grouped kneeling over bodies of soldiers. She and Mark stood together, she with her scythe, Mark with his shovel swinging wildly at the advancing corpses. The gun fire was becoming less by the moment, soldiers reduced to using their rifles as clubs as the carried magazines ran dry. One in the more resourceful soldiers was driving the farms tractor around complete with its vicious looking mower and large wheels chewing the undead into apple sized chunks as he repeatedly screamed “Yeehaw!” It would have been funny if she wasn’t splattered with the ichor of split skulls and severed limbs. Her arms screamed in protest at the repeated blows. Her shoulders ached and she could hear Mark panting beside her.  But already she could tell the enemy’s numbers were falling. Less than a dozen moving dead could be seen and already the diminished survivors were closing in, assorted weapons raised to deliver the finishing strokes.  When finally the last one was re-dead, they stood and took in the scene. Bodies littered the ground, near the front of the property, a Humvee burned as a nearby frantic voice screamed “medic” repeatedly.  Seven of the soldiers and another nine of the refugees lay amongst the hundreds of bodies.

             
They spent the rest of the day and into the night driving spikes into the heads of the fallen and piling bodies into the pyres. They knew this had to be done quickly; reanimation took place between a few minutes and several hours. Thick black smoke filled the sky.  A greatly increased tension was evident in the soldiers.  By the time the fence was repaired and the bodies disposed of the troops were openly glaring at their commander.

             
Finally, the remaining 16 soldiers confronted the officer.

             
“Captain, we’ve had enough, sir. It’s time to stop playing games with these people and worry about our own asses”, demanded the second in command.

             
“Stand down Lieutenant, we have a job to do, I am sick of having this conversation. We have our orders”, returned the captain.

             
“Orders, Those orders went out the damn window when Washington fell. These people are no longer our responsibility and we are no longer going to bust our asses to save theirs,” added another soldier named Alexander.

             
This had evidently been an ongoing argument between the captain and the men, which went a long way to explain why the attitudes of the soldiers had darkened.

             
“That is insubordination, Sergeant! Corporal Lee, remove Sargent Alexander’s weapon and take him into custody!  And anyone else who wants to continue this bull shit can join him.

             
“No sir, Captain, We don’t take orders from you anymore.” As he spoke, the lieutenant drew his side arm and aimed it at the leader.

             
The captain saw what was coming and started to raise the rifle he carried, but the other man had the advantage. The captains chest sprayed blood where the bullet puncture his chest, at this close range, not even his armor could save him, his own rifle discharged futilely into the dirt at the lieutenants feet as he fell back, dead.

             
A stunned look filled the faces of all those who watched, save that of McCartney, who just smiled.

             
Lieutenant McCartney turned to his men, “Put them in the barn” he ordered. The shocked survivors were herded inside the barn and again were chained in. They stayed there all day. No food was provided, no one let them out to go to the latrine, and they just set there.

             
The opening doors flooded the dark barn with brilliant sunlight almost a day later, And the survivors were greeted by the sight of McCartney standing there flanked by two of his men.

             
“So here’s where it stands. There are too damn many of you. Twenty of you get to stay as our guests. The rest of you will be driven somewhere else and wished the best of luck. Those that go will be given a little food and water, those that stay will earn their protection by working this farm, doing chores, and…”here he paused to glance at some of the young woman”…a few other things.”

             
A gasp rolled though the refugees, and some people wept openly. They hadn’t realized the level of depravity the soldiers had sunk to, or the level of protection the captain had offered.

             
The old vet pushed to the front of the crowd, “You can’t do this, it’s more than your job to protect us, and it’s just the right thing to do. Give us guns and we will help you hold this place!”

             
“We don’t need your help, civilian!” the word came out as an insult. “We just need your candy asses to stay out of our way...”

             
“I am not a civilian, I served my country for twenty years and in three different wars, and I served with honor, not like you and these assholes backing you up.” The vet straightened his back with pride at these words.

             
“I’ve taken enough lectures on duty and honor.” With these words, he brought the butt of his rifle to his shoulder and fired three rounds. The vets head burst like a balloon and he crumbled in a heap where he stood.

             
“Anyone else,” demanded McCartney, “or can we stop with these fantasies that you will do anything except what we tell you?”

             
The people in the barn were ushered outside over the body in the doorway and assembled, another shocked sound escaped the crowd when the body of the now reanimated captain was noticed straining at the chains that held him as he was led off towards the distant trees.

             
They were divided into two groups, one that would go and one that was to stay. The strong healthy men would stay, as would the young girls and the three women who kept house. Everyone else, the children, the elderly, the sick and infirm were loaded into two trucks and driven away. Less than twenty minutes later. A rattling of gunfire was heard far in the distance, and shortly after the trucks came back empty. No explanation was given for the gunfire, but everyone knew. The remaining survivors were in a terror at the horrible men that now controlled their lives. Three young women were dragged screaming into the house, and anyone who interfered was beaten savagely with the butts of rifles until they fell, and kicked unconscious by the heavy boots of their overseers.

             
They were awoken every day at sun up, and worked until well after dark in the fields thanks to the area lights that burned 24 hours a day. The first day all they received for food was one generic unfrosted cherry pop-tart each. Inside the house, the soldiers were well fed.

             
The second day, each person was given about half a pack of shrimp flavored ramen noodles.

             
The second day was when the first refugee was killed. It was one of the elderly women, shot trying to help one of the “comfort girls”, as the soldier called them, to escape. As a lesson to the others her body was laid on the grass in front of the open barn. Several soldiers soon appeared with the undead captain held at length by chains run through pipes and staked beside the dead woman. After what he hadn’t eaten came back, it was made clear the same fate would befall any who opposed them. Her revived half eaten body was dragged off again by the soldiers.

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              It was at that moment Mark leaned over and whispered in her ear, “We are getting you out of here.”