Aftershock: A Collection of Survivors Tales (10 page)

This whole thing started with a report from some hick cop out of Bentonville, Virginia of all places. A random attack on a random individual by another random individual. According to the report, cannibalism was involved. So why would two platoons of regular infantry and a unit of Rangers out of Benning be sent to some two-street-light, back-water hole outside Bentonville you ask? Beats the shit out of me, but I’ll tell you this: I think somebody high up knew what that report meant. I’ve never been a conspiracy nut. We heard a lot of that crap at the barracks, especially after 9/11. The Government knows this or that,
They
caused this epidemic or that disease. We were a bunch of grunts just killing time waiting to be sent over to some desert somewhere. I never put much stock in that horseshit. Especially because nobody could ever tell me who
They
were, or how
They
managed to control all this shit when from where I stood
They
couldn’t even manage to get my paycheck right.

So there we were one afternoon, shooting the shit on a Friday waiting for our leave passes to kick in, when we got the call.

“Grab gear and haul ass to the cattle cars boys!” my sergeant shouted. He was a decent guy, it was our Captain who was the dick, but from what I hear that was pretty much SOP for the US Military.

I got my team together and we loaded in. We were kind of excited just to be doing something other than guarding the ammo dump or the water tower all day, every day.

“Where are we going?” a few of the new guys asked.

“You’ll know when we get there shitheel!” barked the sergeant, “You’ll get orders when you get them, until then shut the fuck up.”

The bluster was for show, I’d known him long enough to know that he didn’t have a fucking clue where we were going either. I caught site of the rest of the convoy as we loaded, looked like two platoons of straight-legs, a handful of tanks, three Bradleys, and one big transport with the unmistakable markings of the Rangers on the side. That and all the trimmings loaded into five or six support vehicles. A decent sized group, but nothing too major. I’d seen a bigger force dispatched to do parade duty. I realized later that this was as big a force as they were willing to send out without raising a lot of suspicion. All conspiracy theories aside, I firmly believe that it was leadership’s intent on keeping a low profile that allowed this thing to get out of hand. Had we sent a larger force, we would have crushed this thing in Virginia and the world may not have collapsed into a bunch of walking corpses.

Our orders were relayed en route. We were told a state of civil unrest had broken out in a small Virginia town and our role was to act as support for local law enforcement. They neglected to mention that the “civil unrest” involved a bunch of cannibalistic nutjobs shambling through the street attacking any living thing they came across. They also neglected to mention that local law enforcement had given up the ghost a while back.

By the time we neared Bentonville, you could see smoke on the horizon and the dim, red glow of a big-assed fire. We pulled right into the center of town and unloaded from the trucks. The CO immediately started barking orders for us to set up base camp right there in the street. None of the buildings looked occupied; we hadn’t seen anybody on the way in either. It looked like a ghost town, made all the more eerie by the fading daylight. I wish it had stayed that way.

We made a lot of racket setting up. Some of the guys started to question where the law enforcement we were supposed to be supporting was, and why they hadn’t bothered to come and brief us as to the situation, or at least say hi. The Rangers headed out to recon the area. About an hour later four of them came back in big, big hurry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Ranger move that way. They almost looked scared. These guys were trained to dig trenches with their dicks. I saw one in a barfight once, one guy against six linebacker looking frat boys. He took them apart. These guys didn’t get scared, so what the fuck were they running from? They made straight for the command center in the general store. About five minutes later my sergeant came out yelling for us to get ready. So we got ready. Not ready for what we saw though. We set up a firing line at the edge of a baseball field; the woods on the far side were where the Rangers came from.

First, we heard the moan. It sounded like the wind blowing through a haunted house, or like coffin boards dragging across the floor. Plainly put, it sounded like every one of your nightmares had gotten together and were dragging their way toward you from out of the spookiest woods imaginable.

Next came the stench. My father grew up downwind from a pig farm, a fact he would throw out every time we complained about anything as kids. I imagine this is what it must have smelled like. If you covered it in manure, set it on fire, and pissed out the flames. A lot of guys started puking, it was that bad.

On our first visual contact, everybody froze. Everybody. Three of them came out of the woods. These were the most mangled, deformed bodies any of us had ever seen, and most of the guys here had done time in Iraq and Afghanistan. A roadside bomb does a number on anybody close enough to see it, but these things made that kind of damage look tame. They looked chewed on. Their guts were hanging from their bellies. One of them had a broken arm, the bones poking out all over the place. How in the hell were they still on their feet?!

My asshole Captain called for them to halt. Good luck with that one chief. They just slouched forward, covering the distance between us and them. Three bodies, I couldn’t tell you if they were male or female, against a hundred men and six tanks. They never stopped moving. Even after we opened fire.

Chunks of them started flying. One of them was completely cut in half, but the torso kept crawling toward us. We had been trained from day one of BRM to aim center-mass, dead center on the target, so nobody was going for a headshot. One lucky grunt landed one though. Dropped the fucker on the spot. The victory celebration was short lived though as we soon noticed the rest of them emerging from the tree line. There had to be at least a hundred of them and there were more still coming out.

“Hell vomited up its dead…” I heard some guy on my right start to puke. The whole company opened fire, a lot of guys went full-auto. I barked at my team as best I could over the din. “One shot!” I yelled out. “One kill!”, came the reply. They were good bunch of guys. Too bad none of them made it out of there. Technically, nobody made it out of there, not even me.

These things just kept coming. Fucking relentless. That’s the only way to describe them. We took down fifteen or twenty before they got close enough to start grabbing guys. Twenty out of God-knows-how-many. Best count I could give would be three hundred altogether. Gunfire petered out and was replaced by screams and that godforsaken moan. I don’t think the tanks even fired a shot. Not that they would have done a lot of good. We were overwhelmed in minutes. I saw guys on my left and right disappear under a wave of decayed flesh. A couple of brave fucks fixed bayonets and tried a little CQB. They were eaten alive. Literally. I noticed the brass trying to beat feet back to the transports. They didn’t make it. I stayed with my men until every last one went down. After that I figure my responsibility was done so I got the fuck out. At least that’s what I tried to do. By then it was a sea of moaning, rotted bodies, biting and clawing and tearing. I tried to fall back to my vehicle but I got tripped up when a hand shot out from under a pile of bodies and grabbed my ankle. It was my sergeant. I thought he needed help so I reached over to pull him out. That’s when he bit me on the wrist. I howled in pain and kicked at him with my free foot. I just kept kicking and kicking. I was pretty freaked out. I watched the center of his face collapse until it was nothing but a bloody mangle of skin and tiny bones. He just kept trying to pull me closer and bite me again. I pulled my sidearm and shot him in the center of the forehead. Very lucky shot, I wasn’t aiming just acting out of instinct. As soon as the back of his head sprayed out behind him he let go of my leg and I took off. It was there that it clicked. You have to hit them in the head. Otherwise they keep coming. Then I heard jets. Not planes mind you, anyone with half a brain can tell the difference. These were big fuckers. Bombers most likely. Coming fast and low. I knew what that meant. They were coming to glass the area. Outstanding. I scanned for a place to run. No dice. I wouldn’t get out in time. I could hide under a vehicle but that would only mean I wouldn’t see the fireball coming. Buildings wouldn’t matter either, I knew what kind of firepower these guys were toting. I dropped to my knees and waited. They passed about half a mile to south and ten seconds after they were gone it looked like the sky itself was on fire.

“Nice going guys. You missed!” I yelled out to no one in particular. The people from the woods noticed the fireglow and started walking toward it. I saw some of the guys that had gone down in the fight get up and follow them. This last part I couldn’t believe myself. I thought it was maybe early onset PTSD.

Then the trucks came from the north. I don’t know how many of them there were but the first dozen or so didn’t even stop to check the scene here, they just kept going south toward the fire. I could hear shots from that direction as they made contact with the enemy.

A couple did finally stop and some seriously heavy dudes piled out of the back in full MOPP 4 gear. I stood up with my hands up, palms out in the universal don’t shoot me in the face gesture. As soon as they saw me they started firing questions at me. “What’s your name? Who’s your CO? Who’s the president?” I understood immediately that they were trying to figure out if I was going to leap on one them and try to rip his throat out. I gave my name, rank, and ID number, I told them where I grew up and where I went to basic, I told them what I thought was funny anecdote about growing up in Columbus just outside of Fort Benning. They seemed satisfied that I wasn’t going to attack anybody and lowered their weapons. Then one of them noticed the bite on my wrist and the guns came up again. One of them took off toward a carrier.

“We’ve got a bite! Get the Doc!” Two kept rifles on me while another strapped my hands behind my back with those little plastic restraint strips. I didn’t resist. Even when the strap cut into the already burning bite wound. I asked repeatedly what the fuck was going on. They tied my wrists, then tied my arms down, and finally put about a mile of tape around my ankles. I just kept asking what the fuck was going on. I knew I wasn’t going to get an answer. These guys had no rank, no insignia, no identification on their suits. I’m smart enough to know that those are the guys we aren’t supposed to know about.

Some scrawny guy a lab coat and respirator climbed out of the back of a Bradley and came over brandishing a huge needle.

“I’m going to sleep now, huh?” I asked.

“Yes son. But don’t worry, we’re going to take care of you,” came the reply.

“Yeah. Right.” I was out before he even pulled out the needle.

I woke up in this place. I haven’t seen the rest of the building but I’m guessing it’s a hospital somewhere. Could be two miles underground for all I know. I haven’t seen the outside of this room since I came here. I’ll tell you what I have noticed. One by one, the people that used to come around, to bring me food or take blood, have stopped coming by. The first few days, or weeks, or whatever the hell it was, this was Grand Central Fucking Station. I had guards at the door, meals four times a day, a train of doctors and nurses asking questions and taking blood. They were always taking blood... I’d answer the same questions over and over. Most of the people were okay I guess, nobody beat me or badgered me too bad. Except one guy I named Dr. Knowitall. I hate that guy. Just something about him creeped me the fuck out. I still couldn’t get anybody to answer my questions. They’d talk about sports and the weather, one of the guards and I played dominos a few times, but as soon as I’d ask about what happened in Virginia, or what was going on outside. They’d leave the room.

The closest thing I got an answer was from Molly. She used to bring me my bowl of water and sponge for my nightly bath. One night, we were flirting a little and I asked her out.

“Nothing fancy,” I said, “Just coffee, or maybe a couple of drinks and some sex.”

She comes back with, “Like that’s ever going to happen again,” and looks away all sad.

At first I thought she was just shooting me down, but something about the way she added the “again” and the look on her face told me that something real bad was going down out in the real world. Like whatever it was we came up against outside Bentonville was getting out of hand.

I stopped asking after that. Just went through the motions, let them poke and prod and interrogate all they wanted. Pretty soon I was only getting fed twice a day. Then most of the docs stopped showing up, then I only had one guard. Then almost everybody stopped coming. Except for Dr. Knowitall. The squirrelly fuck paces outside my door for a couple hours, comes in to ask some inane questions, then goes back to pacing the hall. I would be willing to bet that, whatever the hell is going on, he and I are the only ones left in this place. I know for a fact that he’s insane. And that he doesn’t know that I know he plans on killing me. In fact, I’ve made some, let’s call them travel arrangements, in which his attempt to shoot me will play a pretty important part on getting me underway. I just hope he tries to shoot me and doesn’t plan on letting me starve, or talking me to death.