Apex Predator (14 page)

Taking a deep breath, he pushed on the door handle.  The sliding door made a muffled click, and slid open.  Jackson immediately charged in, rifle to his shoulder.  He swept from left to right, following the wall as he advanced.

SSgt Brown followed the young trooper through the door, sweeping right to left.  He continued into the kitchen as he finished his sweep.  Mike, Jen, and Theresa followed.  Theresa walked straight towards the hallway, shotgun at her shoulder.

“Clear,” Jackson called out quietly.  The mantra was repeated four times by the team.  Mike moved to the front door as he heard the group clear the front of the house.  Turning the handle, he confirmed that the door was indeed locked.  When he turned, he saw the rest of the group stacking up on the hallway, while Wilcox was sliding the back door closed.

“Ok,” SSgt Brown started.  “Jackson and I will clear the rooms.  You guys stay in the hall, and deal with anything coming down the hall.  The group followed the two scout troopers.  In a few minutes the house was confirmed to be empty.

The former owners had obviously left in a hurry.  Both children’s beds had been stripped of their bedding, and clothes had been pulled from drawers.  The cupboards were relatively empty.  There was a gun case in one of the rooms, but it was opened, and empty.  Jackson found himself wondering what fate had befallen the family that had lived here.

“Hey,” Mike announced.  “They got real food in the fridge.”  The two Cavalry troopers, Jen and Theresa ran into the kitchen.  None of them had had anything decent to eat in a few days.  SSgt Brown’s stomach growled at the thought of real food.

Mike was pulling containers of leftovers out and tossing them onto the counter.  He found what he was looking for.  He looked at the microwave.  What the hell, he thought.  He tossed the container in and shut the door quietly.  He turned the knob on the front, rewarded with the low buzz, telling him his feast would soon be warm enough to enjoy.  The others took their turn looking through the refrigerator and containers of leftovers.

Within minutes the group was eating a hot meal for the first time in several days.  “I need to meet the lady who cooked all of this,” Jen said.  “She is an amazing cook.”  Mike shoveled another spoon full of gumbo into his mouth.  He just grunted and shook his head.

“This reminds me of my wife’s gumbo,” added SSgt Brown.  “You ever have gumbo Wilcox?”

“No Sergeant,” he answered.  “I’m from Michigan.  We don’t have a lot of Cajun restaurants up there.”

“Here,” the NCO handed Wilcox a spoon full of the local signature dish.  “Try this.  It’s a bit spicy.”

The young aviation trooper shoved the spoon in his mouth with his good hand.  “Wow, this is amazing.”  Jen noticed that Wilcox’s cheeks flush just a little.

“Not too hot for you is it?” she asked.  They all laughed as Wilcox turned up his Dr. Pepper.

“Maybe just a bit,” he replied.  They all laughed again.

SSgt Brown thought about how stressful the past few days had been.  He thought about Anderson and how he had handled that situation.  He thought about his wife and kids.  He knew they were dead, just like everyone else.  The image of his wife screaming as she tried to protect the kids flashed into his mind.  He felt a wave of nausea.  He gave Wilcox his bowl of gumbo.  Mumbling something about taking a piss, he got up and walked to the back of the house.

Jen could see the smile fade from the big soldier’s face.  She knew that he didn’t need to empty his bladder.  She knew something else was up.  She thought about getting up and talking to him.  No, she thought, he’ll talk when he’s ready.

SSgt Brown walked to the back of the house.  He didn’t know what he was looking for but he needed to keep his mind occupied.  He’d seen this before.  When he lost two troopers from his squad in Iraq, he’d done this: he would sink himself into the job of leadership and block out the pain that he felt.

He looked through the blinds covering the window of the first bedroom he came upon.  The sun was going down.  Street lights were coming on up and down the street.  The front of the house appeared to be clear.  Where was everyone?  If they were zombies, why weren’t they wondering this street?

He did a quick inventory of the room he was standing in.  It must have belonged to a young girl.  The walls were a light shade of purple.  There were a couple of unicorn posters on the wall.  There were several dresses that had fallen to the bottom of the closet.  He shook his head and walked to the next room.

This was clearly a boy’s room.  There was a gaming system attached to a small TV.  There were sports pendants and posters on the wall, and the floor was covered with little cars, and toy guns.  There was a BB gun leaning up against the wall near the bed.  He closed his eyes.  He could see a pre-teen boy wielding that BB gun in an attempt to fend off the hoard of zombies.

Walking into the master bedroom, he saw a king sized bed stripped of all linen.  He found the empty gun case.  He looked in the closet.  There before his eyes were an Air Force uniform.  The name “Sanderson” was sewn above the left shirt pocket in blue.  On the sleeves was the rank of an Air Force Master Sergeant.  That explains a lot.  He could imagine the Air Force NCO packing his family up and moving them on base in an attempt to escape the horror that walked the street.

He walked back into the living room.  The group had finished dinner and Mike was cleaning the dishes while the rest were relaxing on the couches and chairs.  SSgt Brown sat down on the end of the couch opposite Jen.

“Looks like this house belongs to an Air Force guy,” he announced.  “There are still some clothes in the back. If anyone needs anything, might want to look.”    He turned towards SPC Wilcox.  “So, what’s the situation on base?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean has the 101
st
secured the perimeter.”

“I don’t know.  Last I heard, they were going to start sweeping the housing areas today.  We got 5000 guys on the ground.  So, I think we’ll get it cleared out pretty quick.”

“Then what?” asked Jackson.  “Are they gonna start pushing out of the gate?”

“I don’t know,” Wilcox replied.  “All we were told before we headed out was that we were coming to secure the nukes and bombers.”

“Wait,” interrupted SSgt Brown.  “You said 5000 troops.  Last time I heard the 101
st
was almost 20,000 strong.”

“It is,” the aviation troop answered.  “They have us split up by Brigade Combat Teams.  Not all of us are here.”

“And…” replied the NCO

“Oh.  Yeah, the rest of the Division flew into Atlanta to try to secure that city.”

“Atlanta?  Why Atlanta?” asked Jackson

“CDC,” replied Jen.  They all looked at her.  “This is an outbreak.  CDC, NIH, any place that does disease research has to be protected.”

“Makes sense,” SSgt Brown replied.  “Any idea where else we’re deploying troops?”

“I know the entire 82
nd
went to Washington, and 10
th
Mountain went to New York.  Other than that, I have no idea.  Internet says this thing is global.”

“What do you mean global,” asked Mike from the kitchen.

“I mean Mexico City is totally quiet.  Some people were speculating it was some kind of terrorist attack or something like that.  You know, drug cartels or something?  Then this started happening here.  Europe is reporting the dead attacking the living.  China declared martial law a few days ago.  The Panama Canal was closed yesterday.  I mean global, everywhere, the whole fuckin’ planet.”

“What’s the situation here in the states?” asked SSgt Brown.

“Not good.  All of the south and southwest are being overrun.  I heard that Dallas and Houston are totally silent.  Most of the major cities: Washington, New York, Chicago, Los Angeles; all have major outbreaks.  So far, the only safe places I’ve heard about is Denver and the Rockies.  But, that was yesterday.  I don’t know about today.”

“What about the rest of the Army,” asked Mike?

“Well, New York, Atlanta, Washington and a couple of strategic Air Force Bases are getting most of the attention.  We got the word that a battalion of 10
th
Mountain got whipped in New York.  I didn’t get the details but I did hear something about 43 survivors.”

“Well, that’s about the ratio we have here.  We started off the other day with about 250 troopers.  I know of about 15 survivors from our unit.  Does the Government have a plan yet?”

“Not that I heard.  It sounds like we are still in reaction mode.  There have been evacuations and refugee camps set up, but I don’t think they are safe.  The one in Meadville Mississippi had to be quarantined because the Creeps made it in.”

“The creeps?” Jackson asked.

“Yeah, that’s what people are calling this, as in “The walking creeps.”

Jackson chuckled.  “Watch out, Zed gives you the creeps.”  Jen, Theresa and SSgt Brown all laughed at the young black trooper’s joke.

“Ok, kids we need to do a quick round count,” SSgt Brown announced.  “Mike, you want to come over here for a bit.”

Mike finished wiping off the last of the dishes.  “What’s up Sergeant Brown?”

“Let’s do a quick round count.”

Mike grabbed the backpack with all the ammo in it, and took his pistol out of the holster on his waste.  The others followed suit.  SSgt Brown was not happy with the results.  He and Jackson had a total of 250 rounds for their rifles between them.  That was short of the basic combat load for one soldier. 

Mike had 32 rounds for his pistol.  Wilcox and Jen had a total of 68 rounds for the 9mm’s.  Theresa had 22 shotgun shells, and the Mini-14 used the same rounds as the M-4’s. That meant 250 rounds for three rifles.

“Ok guys, we need to start thinking of ways to conserve or replenish ammo.  For now, let’s get some sleep.  I’ll keep watch first, then: Jen, Jackson, Mike, Theresa and SPC Wilcox.  No lights.  Remember, if we get breached out the sliding door and rally in the back yard.”

Day 7

North of Highway 80

The night passed without incident.  SSgt Brown looked at his watch.  0812.  He climbed out of the bed in which he was lying.  Stretching, he felt his back pop.  Damn, he thought, I’m getting to old.  He walked to the kitchen, noting that someone was showering in the hall bathroom.

The smell of bacon met him as he entered the living room.  Jen, Mike, and SPC Wilcox were sitting around the small table.  Each had a cup of coffee in front of them.  Jackson was at the stove, scraping eggs out of a pan.

“Good morning Sergeant,” Jen greeted him.

“Morning,” he muttered.

“Did you sleep well?

“I did.  You guys?”

“Like a rock,” added Mike.  “You hungry?  Jackson says he can do some eggs, so we’re letting him feed us today.”

“I am.  Is that Theresa in the bathroom?”

“Yes,” answered Jen.  “We all figured that we should take advantage of hot water.  It might be a while before we get another chance to shower.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee.  Sitting down, he took a long swig of the bitter dark liquid.  Oh, it tasted so good.  He felt the warmth as the hot coffee made its way down to his stomach.  “Anybody looked outside this morning?”

“Roger,” replied Wilcox.  SSgt Brown noted that he had a proper sling on his left arm.  Jen’s work no doubt.  He also had replaced his flight suit with a pair of cargo pants and tee shirt.  “No bad guys out front or out back.  The dog stopped barking about five this morning.  Not sure if he just gave up, or the creeps finally got him.”

Jackson served the group their plates.  The survivors ate in silence.  Theresa walked into the room.  She had traded in her shorts and tank-top for the Air Force uniform that had been hanging in the master bedroom.  It was several sizes too big for her.  SSgt Brown got up from the table.  “Here Theresa,” he offered.  “Sit down and eat.”  She did.

SSgt Brown walked out of the kitchen.  “I’m gonna shower unless it’s someone else’s turn.”  No one spoke up.  He took a long shower, allowing the hot water to flow over his body.  Wow, a cup of coffee and a shower.  He wondered if this day could get any better.

He put his uniform back on, liberating a brown tee-shirt, and pair of boxer shorts from the drawers in the master bedroom.  Walking back into the living room, he noticed that there were several objects on the couch: a couple of baseball bats, golf clubs, a sword that had been hanging on the wall earlier, and hunting knife.

“What’s all this?”

“Oh,” Mike replied.  “You said something about conserving ammo.  Well, I figured we could use some of this for close in.”  He glanced at SPC Wilcox.  “You know, in case Wilcox over there needs to shoot something that’s already dead.”  They all laughed, even the young aviation trooper.

SSgt Brown picked up one of the baseball bats, swinging it easily with one hand.  I guess this could crush the skull of one of these things.  He felt his load bearing equipment for his bayonet.  “Ok, me and Jackson will use our bayonets.  You guys can have the bats.”

He picked up the sword.  He could feel the blade rattle inside the hilt.  “Get rid of this.  It isn’t a live blade.  It’ll fall apart the first time you use it.  Not good.”  He tossed it to the floor.