Get Off My L@wn - A Zombie Novel (18 page)

T
hat evening an event took place that unsettled
things even more. I was in the kitchen enjoying some tea with Ruth Ann and
Bill. I hadn’t had the courage yet to tell them about the increase in CB2’s
speed. I had to tell them, it was critical that I did, and I was about to when
I got an email from one of my guys in Lambeau. It said I should look the output
of the thinning optimizer’s last run for Wisconsin.

“Endres at Lambeau wants me to take a look at
something,” I said, opening a laptop at the table. “Let’s see what Jay’s got in
the box, shall we?” I said.

“Who is Jay?” Bill said.

“Who was Jay. Jay was this guy who went around
surprising your parents and grandparents with diamond rings and llamas.”

“Oh. That explains everything. So what does Jay
have in the box?”

“A llama.”

“Doug, you’re confusing us,” said Ruth Ann
impatiently.

“It’s the next thinning operation in Wisconsin.
It isn’t for CB2. There’s another horde on the move. The thinning operation is
for the Mequon area. On I-43.”

“What? That’s on the lakefront.”

“Yeah, a horde has formed up and left Milwaukee.
It’s heading north on the highway that leads straight to Lambeau. It’s 90 miles
from Door County.”

“That puts the horde there on Thursday,” Bill
said.

“That’s not all that’s happening on Thursday.

“What now?” said Ruth Ann.

“CB2, it’s walking twice as fast as we’ve seen
it before. It will be here too on Thursday. Around the same time in fact.”

Bill’s eyes grew wide.

“Shit Doug, we have to get out of here.” Ruth
Ann demanded.

“OK hon. I’ll ask Frank to schedule a pickup
when I talk to him in the morning.”

“About fucking time,” Ruth Ann stormed off.

Bill left to brief his men.

W
hen I talked to Frank on Monday morning (Day 40),
he was not in a good mood.

“So we’re up to a million, is that right?
They’re headed right at us.”

“Yeah, they are south of Sheboygan right now.
The optimizer called for a strike about 20 minutes ago.”

“I know. Planes are heading out now. There
aren’t a lot of them. Most of our birds are grounded for maintenance. We’re calling
for more planes from carrier task forces in the Atlantic but the ones they can
spare don’t pack the same punch.  A RORO resupply ship is bringing replacement parts
so we should be back to full fixed wing strength in a day.”

“And helicopters?”

“Same. Most are down for maintenance. We should
be back up to strength in a day. We’re not going to be able to throw much at
CB2. The horde marching on Lambeau takes precedence.”

“Frank… This makes my request more urgent. We
want to be evacuated.”

“Now? You’re kidding me, right Walter? You busted
our chops to stay out there in the middle of nowhere and now you want to bug
out? I’ve got a quick answer for you. No.”

“Why not?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Milwaukee A is bearing down
on the only protection 300,000 Americans have, our forces are depleted and in
need of rest, repair and resupply, and you know what else?”

“What?”

“You’re too important. The results coming out of
Christmas Tree are too vital to be without right now. We can’t afford it. Not
just here. You’re computers are identifying strike opportunities across half
the country. You’ll be fine.”

“Frank you committed to keeping us safe.”

“And at this moment you are safe. The horizon on
which we can plan is getting shorter and shorter. Right now, you’re staying
put.”

The conversation with Frank ended abruptly.

T
he first raid on MA (Milwaukee A) took place at
Port Washington, Wisconsin. There was a choke point there between the Milwaukee
River to the west and Lake Michigan to the east. It destroyed the town.

The need to cut down the size of MA was so acute
that all the Milwaukee River crossings were destroyed. Even though the river was
fairly wide, about 80,000 undead crossed the waterway. They would likely lose
their connection to the horde and be cut off from it when the river made a turn
west. The smaller group would be dealt with later after the immediate threat
was eliminated.

The raid further reduced the threat of MA to
about 800,000, the thinning optimizer reported. If Lambeau could bring to bear
enough assets against MA, the refugee camp had a chance of surviving.

“If Lambeau is throwing everything it has at
defending themselves, what is left for us?” Ruth Ann observed.

I knew the answer but didn’t voice it out loud.
I raised my estimate of how many of CB2 would arrive on my lawn.

Bill said, “I don’t see why they would expend many
resources on CB2 when it’s marching over ground that’s already been trampled.
There is very little chance there is anything our way worth saving except us.”

“We ought to talk about strategy Bill for your
men when CB2 gets here,” I said. “There is no way your weapons will keep them off
of us. If your men do fire it would draw more towards us even the fuel cell
seems to be.”

“I told you Doug. These second floor windows
will be the first thing to give out. If they start climbing over each other,
they will pour in here like ants on a picnic lunch.”

“Lovely analogy, Bill. Thank you for that,” Ruth
Ann added.

“When CBA gets close we have to shut off the
fuel cell whether Lambeau likes it not. Our lives depend on it. When that
happens, Bill, are you prepared to say no if Lambeau orders you to keep our
systems running?”

“Doug, I won’t answer that. I am a soldier. If
given a lawful order I have to obey it.”

“You’re human too. Hell you are practically my
insurance man. Our life insurance plans with the same company as the house. You
cause us to get killed your company is going to be out millions.”

“Actually that’s not quite right Doug. Our
policies have exceptions for acts of God and war. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to
that, OK?

“You are not being very comforting right now
Bill.”

C
B2 was north of Tomah already.

At the fork where I-90 and I-94 split, with I-90
heading due west, Lambeau tried something new and cheap to divert some undead
from continuing on I-94 towards us.

Three Blackhawks suspended a man each just above
and just out of reach of the face of the advancing horde. Armed only with
bullhorns and guns they tried to get the zombie’s attention. They were to play
the part of the Pied Piper in trying to steer rats into the forests and rough
terrain near and past Fort McCoy.

The bluffs overlooking the I-90, as it got
closer to the Mississippi, were perfect for squad-sized teams to lay in ambush
with mortars. Firing mortars would not make loud enough noise for the dead to
localize. Lambeau hoped to cut the number of dead down with a “death of a
thousand cuts” if you pardon the expression. If the dead vectored in on a
squad, it could melt into the landscape.

The bridges over the Mississippi at French
Island in La Crosse were the most significant bridges in the Midwest
Administrative Zone to have been destroyed so far. French Island still
functioned as a refuge. With no bridges connecting to it, the Mighty
Mississippi kept French Island safe.

It was forty-two miles from the fork of the interstates
to French Island. Lambeau expected that the number of dead killed off along the
route would be sufficient so that the remainder would not pose a significant
threat to the refuge. Just the same, ground troops were ferried into the
airport there from Camp Ripley, the winter warfare training center in Minnesota.

With my high-resolution satellite feed we could
watch the progress of the diversion attempt. Again, I connected the images to
our big screen TV. This entertainment, updated each minute, provided important
relief to the tension of the long wait for CB2.

“Check it out, the helicopters are hovering
right over the fork!” a soldier named Chris Evans said.

“I bet they start moving to the west, they want
to draw Zekes onto 90,” said Sgt. Orderly.

Appearing suddenly, a string of white smoke billowed
over the area north of the interchange, where I-94 continued northwest.

“What’s that about? Napalm?” said Evans.

“No, there are no flames. We would see them even
in daylight. No. They’re trying to cover up 94 like closing a curtain so more
will follow on 90.”

Orderly was right. The three helicopters began
creeping west almost indiscernibly slowly. It took several minute-by-minute
updates to tell for sure. More smoke continued to billow up over the I-94
portion of the highway.

“I don’t see any helicopters near there. Where
is the smoke coming from?” I asked.

“Probably from howitzers at Fort McCoy. They can
fire up to eleven miles. McCoy is a little further away than that but the
howitzers move,” Orderly said.

Bill was watching too. He added, “There were
self-propelled howitzers there for training when this all started. The smoke is
probably courtesy of them.”

Fort McCoy was a substantial training base for
the U.S. Army. Every time I drove past there I knew there was more to the place
than some dusty barrack like buildings visible from the highway.

“You know they’re a lot closer to us than they are
to Door County. Maybe they can help us when CB2 gets here. Lieutenant, would
you be willing to run that up the chain?”

“I can do that Mr. Handsman. If those are
self-propelled guns they could be here in under four hours without traffic. Ten
or twelve at the most.”

Thank goodness for small favors.

Just imagine those men swinging from lines
shouting through megaphones and waving just out of reach of more than three
million zombies. I don’t know if they were in baskets or harnesses but they
must have been freezing and frightened. Yet, they were there doing what they
were ordered to do. One wrong twitch by the helicopter’s pilots and you know
they would have been cut loose by the crew chief up above rather than risk
having the chopper be exposed to a clawed, bitten, or even mauled comrade.

The technique was working.

As the helicopters crept west a finger of undead
followed them. The finger widened and deepened. After half an hour of updates,
I made an estimate of the number of undead drawn off the path towards us based
upon the size of the contour surrounding them. Incredibly, I estimated 200,000
ghouls.

“They better stop. That’s too many to kill
before they get to La Cross,” I said.

Each zombie taken off the northwest path would
be one less we would see here. Still, we are only thirteen people. There were
hundreds on French Island. The Doug Handsman I grew up with wouldn’t care about
those people. Not a whit. The person who spoke last could not possibly be me. But
it was.

In the next minute’s update, smoke appeared at
the rear of the mass heading west visually cutting them off from the main body
moving northwest. Smoke rounds continued to burst near the westward divergence
of I-90 while the area over I-94 was allowed to clear. They used the smoke like
valves to shunt a group of undead to the west. Then, when they switched the
smoke’s location, it was like closing the valve leading west and opening the
one leading north. Soon a gap appeared between the rear edge of the group that
had broken off and the main horde. Amazingly, this attempt at steering was
successful.

For the price of several hours’ use of three
helicopters, some unbelievably brave men and smoke rounds, a significant body
of walking dead was split off from their horde. This effort would serve as a
model for other attempts around the country.

I
showed Ruth Ann some of the fruit of my labors
here at Christmas Tree. A few of the virtual web hosts, those make believe
computers I had set up, were filling with data about missing persons, mostly
children. Tens of thousands of photographs of kids along with identifying
information were being uploaded by Lambeau, more every minute.

I didn’t fully appreciate why it was important
for me to set up web hosting on my servers when there were zombies to find and
kill. However, after looking at the photographs I counted helping to reconnect
parents and children as among Christmas Tree’s most important functions.

Around 3 PM, Bill came over to talk.

“Brandt just told me about another aerial mining
mission north of Port Washington.”

“Really, I didn’t see that kicked out by the
optimizer.”

“Yeah, this one was ordered the old fashioned
way. It shows you how on edge they are.”

“They were supposed to be having down time today
for repairs.”

“There is a lot at stake. Let me run an idea by
you.”

“Shoot.”

“What about taking down the garage door
ourselves and using the material to board up the second floor windows?”

“OK. That sounds
so
irrational you must
have a good reason for thinking it’ll help.”

“If Zeke gets into the second floor, we’re lost.
There is no separation between the first and second floors. Giving them access
to the garage means access to a small doorway that we can shore up. We’d leave
your car in there and move the 4x4 back in. There wouldn’t be enough room for
the Zekes to mass.”

“We’re using the back door out of the garage as
our main door. If we open the garage to the outside and board up the inner door
how will we get in and out of house?”

“We saw you have some rope ladders in case of
fire. We can use those hooked up at the roof.”

“OK. Now you
are
irrational. Look at me.
I am more than one cannoli past my prime. I bought those things out of habit,
not because I ever thought I would or could use them. If we do as you are
saying, I will be a shut-in.”

Of course, I was already for all intents and
purposes.

“OK. I’ll keep thinking about it.”

“How about the cars? If we take the wheels off
the cars we have, Ryan’s, and mine we can position them in front of but away
from the building. As obstacles. No. That’s a stupid idea. Yeah, you keep
thinking about it.”

I thought for a moment myself and continued, “Actually,
all this talk about shutting me in makes me want to go for a walk. Can you hook
me up with an escort?”

“Sure, I’ll go with you.”

No sooner did the two of us plus two soldiers, Specialists
Bob Peretz and Bob Wisnewski – Bob and Bob, get outside than a thought occurred
to me.

“What about the home supply distribution
warehouse east of us?”

“Doh!” exclaimed Bill. “When we operated the
safe zone we raided it a bunch of times. There should still be things there we
could use.”

“Sometimes it takes some fresh air to get fresh
ideas.”

“Puh,” said Specialist Bob’s rifle.

“Puh. Puh.” said the other Specialist Bob’s
weapon.

“Why don’t we make this a short walk?” I said.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.”

“Puh.”