Journal of the Undead (Book 1): Littleville Uprising (36 page)

“I would
never
ask my men to do anything I wasn’t willing to do myself!” Major Stone snarled.

“Sir, if we need to come up with a Plan B—or in this case a Plan C—we’re going to need your experience and ability to command. We need you up on the wall, sir.”

Major Stone relented once he realized the logic in what the lieutenant was saying. They had more than enough volunteers to drive the plows without the major’s help.

The best sharpshooters remained on the wall picking off flesh-eaters while the rest were linking chains and preparing the plows. Major Frank Stone paced like an expectant father waiting for his first born.

The plows finally revved to life and moved toward the deluge of rotted flesh tottering outside the compound. Just as Frank had planned, the chain nets scooped up uncoordinated bodies and pulled them toward the deep ditches. Dozens of zombies were dropped into the blaze with no way to climb out.

“It’s working, sir,” gushed Private Nelson through the radio in the plow. “You’re a genius!”

“Not even close,” quipped Frank as he breathed a sigh of relief. “We’re going to need more trenches A.S.A.P. I need someone who can operate the backhoe out there immediately,” Frank barked into his radio.

With the supply of ammunition rapidly depleting, the troops depended heavily on their new disposal method. From the watchtower, Major Stone targeted stragglers that slipped through the nets.

“What the hell was that?” a scream crackled through the radios.

A horrible grinding clunked from outside the compound. One of the chains had snapped and wrapped around the plow’s wheel. As the wheel turned, the chain winched the partner plow, toppling it onto its side. Frank lowered his weapon and reached for the binoculars. He could see a soldier pulling himself through the window. Struggling to get far away from the hungry horde, he stood teetering on top of the overturned vehicle.

“Nelson! Get back inside that vehicle!” Frank shouted into his radio. “We’re coming to get you.”

Major Stone rappelled down the side of the tower and sprinted to the gate to help the disoriented private. Dozens of zombies clamored to reach the fresh meat that wobbled just above their reach. To Frank’s horror, Private Nelson fell. Shrieks of agony echoed through the compound as the young man was ripped to shreds by the voracious mob.

Four heavily armed soldiers jumped into a Jeep to rescue the remaining plow driver. Frank unlocked the gate and hopped into the back of the Jeep. With axes and crowbars, the soldiers rained down blows on the vulnerable skulls of their enemy. Meanwhile, the other team of plows scooped up as many zombies as possible, striving to keep their compatriots safe. The other stranded driver leapt from his vehicle and climbed quickly into the Jeep. Unleashing his fury on the nearest zombies, Frank found Private Nelson’s stripped carcass trampled into the gravel.

“Some birthday, huh, kid?” Frank muttered bitterly as he put a bullet into the young private’s brain.

Frank heard the telltale moaning behind him and planted his ax deep into the skull of a half-scorched flesh-eater. Letting loose a stream of profanities, Frank hacked repeatedly into the monster’s shattered crown, splattering the ground with cranial fluid and tissue.

“Sir! We need to get back to the wall!” shouted one of his soldiers in the Jeep.

Frank kicked the remains of a crushed skull and jumped into the back of the vehicle. Behind the safety of the gate, Frank climbed out the Jeep and stalked across the quad.

“Sir, you’re hurt,” called one of the medics as he caught the major’s arm.

“No I’m not,” Frank muttered absently.

The medic pointed to Frank’s shoulder where blood was seeping through a bullet hole in his jacket. Overwrought with fury, he’d never felt the bullet that ricocheted into his arm. The medic, Lieutenant Smith, led Frank into their makeshift examining room and told him to remove his jacket and shirt. Swabbing down the area with an Iodine solution, the medic assessed the damage.

“It doesn’t look too deep, sir. We’ll have you stitched up in no time,” the medic said confidently.

Lieutenant Smith unwrapped a syringe and pulled a vial from a locked drawer.

“What’s that?” Frank demanded.

“Demerol, sir … for the pain.”

“Forget it! I don’t need it. Just stitch me up.”

“But sir, I have to dig out some of the shrapnel. Trust me; you’re going to need something for the pain.”

Before his commanding officer could object, Smith jabbed the needle into the fleshy part of Frank’s hip.

“Hey!” Major Stone embarked on a rant against the brash behavior of an upstart medic who’d injected his commanding officer with a medication against orders. Nearly eight minutes into the tirade, his words slowed and slurred together.

“I didn’t give you permissshh…” Major Stone mumbled before he drifted to sleep mid-sentence.

“C.O.s are so much easier to work on when they’re unconscious,” Lieutenant Smith muttered as he mined shards of metal from the wound.

While the major slept, the battle raged on. He remained in blissful slumber until less than one hundred zombies were left standing. Frank sat up groggily and tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind.

“Easy there, sir,” a familiar voice called.

Lieutenant Smith was at Frank’s side and strapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm. The medic listened to Frank’s heart and respiration then checked his temperature.

“How do you feel, sir?” the lieutenant asked. “How’s the pain?”

Frank swore he felt fine and that there was no pain, but the haggard lines around his eyes said otherwise. The medic raised a questioning eyebrow but said nothing to contradict his commanding officer.

“Here,” he said, placing a small bottle of pills in Frank’s hand, “just in case the pain becomes too much to bear, sir. One won’t knock you out but it should take the edge off until you get where you’re going.”

“Going?
Where
am I going?” Frank asked, his mind still numbed from the medication.

“Home, sir. That is, assuming you still intend to keep your promise. When I last checked, there were less than a hundred zombies out there. I’ve counted about eighty-five or so shots since. I’d guess they’re almost gone by now, sir. So, we should
all
be headed home soon. Right?” Lieutenant Smith said warily.

C.O.s often made promises in battle that were quickly forgotten once the danger passed, so the young medic wasn’t counting his chickens just yet.

“Less than one hundred? How long was I out?” Major Stone wondered aloud as he raked his hand through his hair. “And yes, I have every intention of keeping that promise. I only regret that not everyone survived to go home. Lieutenant, thank you,” Frank paused, “for fixing my shoulder and for ignoring my pompous objection to your treatment. It would have served me right if you
had
dug out all that shrapnel without sedating me.”

The lieutenant handed Frank a clean shirt and a spare jacket before helping him up from the table. Though still a bit wobbly from the Demerol, Frank stepped out into the chilly night air.

“Sir!” Corporal Harris called down from atop the wall. “You made it. You’re just in time to see the last of these bastards go down!”

Frank raised a pair of night-vision binoculars for a closer look. Amazed, he gasped. Only four zombies remained. Blasts rang out from the wall and then there were none. The compound was eerily silent as the last corpse was kicked into the fire. Exhaustion weighed heavily on the men as they waited for confirmation that they’d dropped the last flesh-eater in their sector. When the area had been verified as zombie-free one last time, the men assembled in the compound to await instruction. Major Frank Stone gave his heartfelt thanks to the men, bidding them safety and Godspeed as they journeyed home. Though it was not an order, Frank recommended that the troops should wait for daybreak before they departed. For the last time, the major dismissed his troops. Fearful that he might change his mind, a few soldiers took their leave immediately. They hurried to vehicles or ran full speed from the compound.

“Sir, I’m all fueled up and ready. I plan to fly out at first light,” said Lieutenant Brock. “Can I drop you someplace on the way?”

“Where are you headed?” Frank asked hopefully. A helicopter would get him to where he wanted to be so much faster than any jeep could.

“Oklahoma, Sir. I’m hoping my girl is still there, safe and sound.”

“Well, if you’d be so good as to drop me in West Virginia, I’d be in your debt,” Frank said with a smile. “I’d feel better leaving a vehicle for someone else to get home.” It almost seemed too good to be true. In just a few hours he would be on his way to rejoin his family.

At dawn, Frank strapped himself in the passenger side of the chopper and breathed a sigh of relief as Lieutenant Brock began lift-off.

Reunions

For the third time, Doc rolled over and checked the clock. Still three forty-five, just like before. He fluffed his pillow and sighed.

“George, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” his wife, Louise, asked yawning. “You’ve been tossing and turning all night. Is it heartburn?”

“Nah, I’m fine. I’m sorry I woke you, babe. Go back to sleep.”

“George Mitchell, we have been married for almost forty years. I know you’re not fine! Now out with it, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s like she’s hiding something.”

Louise smiled. Her husband had become more attached to Emma than he cared to admit. Being so much like their Amy, it was hard for him to avoid. It felt like they’d been given a second chance. Louise tactfully suggested that he just talk to Emma instead of racking his brain all night trying to figure it out. Wearily, he promised he would talk with Emma in the morning and agreed to try to get some sleep. As he stared up at the ceiling, his mind still churned with possible theories.

“Maybe you need a distraction,” Louise murmured huskily, drawing her husband’s hand up the length of her torso.

“That could work,” Doc chuckled as he embraced his wife and kissed her passionately.

With less than an hour before breakfast, Emma crept quietly from the bathroom to the hospital wing with a specimen cup tucked into the pocket of her sweatshirt. Even though the lights were out and Emma knew she was alone, she tiptoed into the last exam room. Unable to breathe, she pulled the door closed behind her. Fumbling through the drawer, Emma produced the test kit she had hidden. She carefully placed the specimen onto the test strip with an eyedropper and waited. The directions on the box said ninety seconds so Emma focused on the second hand of her watch. Each click seemed to take forever and she hoped Doc wouldn’t arrive early. In the tiny window of the test strip, two dark pink lines had formed. Positive. Exhaling sharply, Emma swept the evidence into the trashcan and wiped the counter with a sterilizing cloth. Just then, the overhead lights in the hallway flickered to life. The news would have to be delivered later, perhaps while everyone else was at breakfast. Emma was still wiping the counter when Doc popped his head into the room.

“You’re up early.”

“I forgot to clean this room yesterday,” Emma lied, badly. “Evan and I were watching a movie and, like I said, I forgot. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Doc eyed her suspiciously and Emma was sure he could tell she was lying.

“I’ll rescrub the other rooms and anything else you want me to do,” Emma’s voice was thick with guilt. “I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

Doc wondered if she was sorry for lying or sorry about whatever it was that she was hiding. He knew if she was assigning herself punishments it had to be bad. Since extra chores would only give her a sense of absolution, he declined. Instead, he sent her to breakfast and told her to take the morning off to refocus.

With Emma gone, Doc hurried back to the exam room to look around. The room was spotless—just as it had been the day before when she had cleaned it. Doc rifled through the drawers and cabinets but nothing looked suspicious. The room was sterile and orderly. The floors had been swept and everything was in place except the trashcan. Doc looked closer; the trash had not yet been emptied. He pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully dug around. Under the disinfecting wipes and some paper towels, Doc uncovered her secret. He removed the test strip and saw two pink lines: a positive pregnancy test.

“Damn it!” Doc swore as he ripped off the gloves and tossed them into the garbage. He angrily stalked down the hall and almost collided with Tara, Ray’s oldest daughter.

“What are you doing down here?” Doc snapped.

“Looking for Emma. Isn’t she here?”

Doc took a deep breath and tried to calm himself before answering. It wasn’t Tara’s fault that Emma was in trouble. In a gentler voice, Doc told Tara that Emma had gone to breakfast. Tara quickly excused herself and scurried down the hall. He wondered if Emma had confided in Tara. Clearly, she didn’t trust him and it was doubtful she would tell Kate.

“Poor Kate,” he muttered.

It was bad enough that Frank still hadn’t made it back. Even though Kate remained confident that her husband was still coming, the odds weren’t in his favor. It had been almost two weeks since Captain Giovanni’s arrival and Frank was supposed to be right behind him. Doc sighed heavily, went to his office, and slammed the door shut. Ignoring the grumbling in his stomach, Doc chose to skip breakfast. Instead, he tried to focus on something other than Emma’s stupidity and the overwhelming urge to castrate his godson. A faint tapping at the door roused Doc from his thoughts.

“I told you to stay out for the morning,” Doc shouted, not bothering to open the door.

“You did no such thing,” Louise announced as she burst into the office.

Startled, Doc looked up at his wife and mumbled a feeble apology. Louise set a plate down on the desk and brushed a kiss on her husband’s cheek.

“You missed breakfast. I guess that means you didn’t talk to Emma yet.”

“I didn’t have to. I found this instead,” Doc said, as he showed her the test strip he had unwrapped from a bunch of paper towels.

“Oh no! George, she must be frightened and feeling so alone. You have to talk to her. Don’t shut her out, she needs you.”

Doc raked his fingers through his thinning hair and shook his head. Without another word, Louise slipped out of the office to give her husband some time to think. Moments later, there was another knock at the door. He was certain this time it had to be Emma.

“Come in,” Doc said calmly.

Ray poked his head in the door and asked if Doc could spare a few minutes. Doc stuffed the bundle of paper towels into his top drawer and motioned for Ray to come in. Ray sat in the chair opposite Doc and grimaced. Typically, Ray was blunt and very direct so his struggle for words had Doc’s curiosity piqued.

“Look, the thing is …” Ray started then stopped.

“Out with it, already. Since when do you mince words?”

“Fine then, don’t you think you’re being awfully harsh with Emma?” Ray blurted out. “I mean, c’mon she’s a good kid. She’s been knocking herself out, doing anything and everything you ask. Kicking her out of the hospital because she forgot to clean a room is bit extreme.”

“Is that what she told you?”

Ray admitted that Emma had not said anything. Tara had told him and he’d overheard Evan fuming about it too. Emma, however, had defended Doc’s decision and insisted that she deserved a much harsher punishment than she’d received.

“Is that so? You thought it was a good idea to come down here and tell me to lighten up. How long has R.J. been on restrictions now? Hmm, let’s see, Kate and her crew arrived here about three months ago. That same day R.J. got himself into trouble but
I’m
too harsh?”

“I guess you’re right. It’s past time R.J. was reprieved. In fact, I’m going to go tell him so right now. So, I took your advice. Are you gonna take mine?”

“Send Emma back down if you see her, please,” Doc grumbled. “I have a headache and I’m going to go lie down. I need her to keep an eye on things while I’m gone.”

Doc walked briskly past the common areas and straight to his room. Ray spotted Emma and gave her Doc’s message before continuing his search for R.J. He knew R.J. would be relieved to hear the good news.

***

Frank kept looking out the window as reassurance that he wasn’t dreaming. Lieutenant Brock was indeed flying him to West Virginia. From their altitude, the towns below looked peaceful and serene. A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight and the ground sparkled in the early morning sunlight. It hardly seemed possible that legions of zombies had been cannibalizing the countryside, but the dull throb in his shoulder reminded Frank that it had been all too real. Not wanting to risk the mind-numbing effects from the painkillers in his pocket, Frank tried to concentrate on getting back to his family. He checked his watch and sighed; teleporting would have taken too long in his opinion, so the tedious helicopter flight was sheer torture. He tried again to focus on the scenery.

As they drew closer to a large town, the landscape grew thick with strip malls and developments. The streets were barren; abandoned cars littered the road. There was no sign of the living below. Whether the residents had fled, gone into hiding, or joined the ranks of the undead, Frank did not know.

“Sir! Did you see that?” Lieutenant Brock shouted over the noise of the propellers.

Frank scanned the area below. Standing on a rooftop, a woman tried desperately to flag them down. Since there was a helipad on the roof, Frank assumed the building was a hospital. Perhaps she thought they were a life-flight.

As he looked closer, Frank saw a cluster of zombies trying to reach the woman. Lieutenant Brock looked to the major for direction. Sighing, Frank nodded and the chopper began its descent. Noise from the propellers drew the attention of the ever-hungry ghouls and, with a chorus of moans, they shuffled toward the chopper. Frank had his rifle ready and, still far above the landing pad, he took aim. Locking the target in his sights, Frank squeezed the trigger and watched the first corpse fall. He was able to drop two more before the helicopter landed. Lieutenant Brock was just about to shut down when a gangly zombie stumbled forward. The blades lopped off the corpse’s head and sent it bouncing off the roof.

“Don’t lose your head!” Brock quipped.

“Ugh!” Frank groaned. “That’s the best you could come up with? A lame one-liner better suited for a cheesy eighties action flick?”

The soldiers laughed for the first time in months as the major climbed out of the cockpit. When the last of the rooftop zombies were destroyed and after a little coaxing, the woman climbed down from her precarious perch. The major led the woman back to the helicopter and the waiting lieutenant.

Introducing herself as Naomi Walls, the woman thanked the soldiers as tears of gratitude welled in her eyes. Naomi was a registered nurse who had been working the night shift before all hell broke loose. She and a few of her less fortunate colleagues had come to assist with a trauma being flown in a few hours earlier. Some of the crew had been attacked and by the time Naomi had arrived, the ravenous monsters had already torn into what was left of her team. She had tried to run back down the stairs but a frightened student nurse had slammed the door shut and locked it tight. Despite her pounding on the door and screams for help, she had been abandoned. Naomi was the only survivor.

In a grandiose show of gallantry, Lieutenant Brock derailed Frank’s plans.

“Well, you’re safe now, Naomi,” said Brock. “I’ll fly you anywhere you need to go.”

With a squeal, Naomi threw her arms around the lieutenant’s neck. Squeezing, as if holding on for dear life, she rambled about getting home to her baby boy. She revealed that her mother often babysat so Naomi could work the night shift but the phone lines were down. With no way of calling home, she knew her mother would be worried sick.

To Frank’s dismay, Naomi’s home was in the opposite direction. They would have to fly back in the direction they’d just come. Brock grimaced. With an apologetic look to Major Stone, they set off. Another hour was lost in taking Naomi home.
Damn Brock and his chivalry
, Frank thought bitterly.
So much for breakfast with my family.

***

On self-imposed cleaning detail, Emma spent the morning scrubbing and sterilizing every inch of the hospital wing. Hoping that her endeavor would prove cathartic, her mind was no more at ease than when she’d began.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Evan called from the hallway. “You missed lunch.”

Emma turned to face him, knowing he was concerned.

“Don’t worry. Mom made you a tray. You must be starving! So, Doc’s making you do all this, huh?”

Emma shook her head no and managed a weak smile. She hated keeping secrets from Evan but, even more, she hated lying to Doc. She’d been so racked with guilt that she hadn’t noticed lunchtime was long gone. The savory aroma of homemade French onion soup made her stomach rumble. The tray held a large crock brimming with piping hot French onion soup under a thick layer of melted cheese, and a roasted vegetable Panini grilled to a golden brown. She followed Evan to the storage room where he created a makeshift table with a stack of boxes. The flavorful broth soothed Emma’s jittery stomach and she gave Evan an appreciative smile. While she ate, Evan grumbled bitterly that Doc was being unreasonable.

“He never appreciates anything you do,” he muttered.

He tried unsuccessfully to convince Emma to call it quits for the day. Refusing, she gave Evan a kiss and promised not to work too hard. He had no choice but to take the empty tray and leave. Emma resumed her cleaning, still regretful about the secret she carried.

A short time later, an odd shuffling sound roused her from her thoughts. As she peered down the hall, she saw a scruffy, disheveled man slowly trudging toward her. Panicked, Emma pulled the pistol from her pocket and pointed it at the head of the stranger.

“Stop right there!” Emma demanded, hoping that he was able to hear and comprehend, unlike the mindless corpses. The pistol in Emma’s hand wobbled as fear made her hands tremble.