Last Stand on Zombie Island (13 page)

“Have you had any commo with anyone off of the island?” Stone asked. Billy noticed that the captain for once did not have his wraparound sunglasses on.

“The telephone network is gone all together. The radios and TVs gave one last message then went to dead air. It’s of the new President giving his welcome address and saying we are at war with just about every country that has ever burned a US flag,” Durham said.

“We figured as much. Our TOC group at the armory gave us updates that some odd traffic has come through. They also say that word is you are the new police chief. So congrats on that,” Stone said.

“I’m still suing you, Chief, and your whole box of doughnuts,” Spud interjected.

“I don’t mean to interrupt you, sir, but we have contacts just under a click forward!” First Sergeant Reid barked out from the hummer roadblock, never taking his eyes from the night vision he watched the highway ahead through.

Stone and Durham started for the roadblock, followed by Billy and Spud. When they reached the hummer, Reid unhooked the device from the plastic mount on his helmet and then passed the night vision device, or NOD, down the line to the Captain who observed for a few seconds before passing them to Durham. The police officer soon handed them to Billy who stood nearby.

Billy peered through the rubber-cupped eyepieces of the NOD and tried to make sense of the green-washed scene down the highway from him. He could see a number of abandoned cars, a miniature golf course, and a few rows of dark storefronts. What looked like a marathon of two dozen shambling people was moving down the road right at them. He could see a bloom of bright white flare in the device each time the group was illuminated by the strobe of the ladder truck’s flashing lights. Each flash seemed to re-confirm that the group had Disease-K.

“Do you think they are infected?” Billy asked Reid as he passed the device to Spud.

“Well, I don’t think they are just a group of citizens out for a stroll. The blood stains and bullet holes rule them out of being a church group,” Reid replied.

Stone was busy talking into the radio about ammo and reinforcements. The four enlisted MPs were checking the magazines on their pistols and digging through the hummers for shovels. Reid continued watching the approaching group through the NOD retrieved from Spud and muttered updates on the range every thirty seconds or so.

“600 meters…” Reid said to the group.

Stone was walking up to each of the MPs on the bridge and talking to them. He physically reached out and touched each solider on the shoulder and gave them their orders in quiet tones. “Blow anything to shit that you see between that tree and the ditch,” and, “Dust anything to the left of this bumper,” among others. “Lay your magazines out so that you can get to them without fumbling in your pouch.”

“So what’s the plan, Billy?” Spud asked the leather man.

“Come on,” Billy said as they walked back calmly to the laddertruck. He grabbed a flat-head axe from the tool compartment and handed it to Spud. Billy himself hefted a Halligan tool and then put it back in favor of a seven-pound yellow Denver tool. The Denver tool was a rugged device that looked like a Louisville Slugger with a 5-pound sledgehammer on one end and an industrial strength fireplace poker on the other. It was used in house fires to rip apart walls and ceilings. Billy figured it would do.

“I’m not really built to be Paul Bunyan, Billy,” Spud said, looking at the fire axe.

“And I’m not John Henry, but as a last resort, if they get back here, we have to be able to meet them with more than our dicks in our hands,” Billy said.

Spud nodded and looked back towards the hummers.

“500 meters,” Reid growled.

Billy noticed Spud climb up the side steps of the truck and stand on the top of the cab. With the outriggers out the truck was a good two feet higher in the air than normal. Billy resisted the strong urge to find a hiding spot next to Spud and remained on the ground.

Billy noticed Durham walk past him back towards his car.

“Getting my shotgun, I’ll be right back,” the police sergeant explained as he passed within a foot of Billy.

Billy heard the radio in the hummer bark with traffic for the Captain and saw Stone pick up the handset to reply.

“400 meters,” Reid muttered.

“If I had some 7.62, I’d light these fuckers up right here, Top,” Billy heard one of the MPs ahead of him say to Reid. The First Sergeant growled at him to shut the fuck up and watch his gun sights.

Spud was rattling around on top of the laddertruck, digging through hatches, sticking small items in his pockets.

Durham walked past again, returning from his car with a shotgun in his hand. He slid shells he pulled from the pocket of his reflective windbreaker into it as he walked.

“Hey, a couple firefighters showed up about an hour ago at the station and asked where their ladder truck was. I told them to come up here and get it if they need it. Just saying,” Durham said as he passed, laughing.

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Billy said.

“By the way, Spud, hiding does not stop evil, return fire does,” the police officer said over his shoulder.

“Still suing your ass!” Spud yelled after him.

“300 meters,” Reid muttered ahead.

Stone walked halfway back to the ladder truck and called to Billy, “Harris, you and Spud stay low back there. When we go loud get behind the engine block of that truck and stay there. All we have is shotguns and sidearms so we have to let them get bad-breath close before we open up.”

Billy gave him a thumbs-up and the Captain turned back towards the hummers.

“200 meters,” Reid updated.

Spud was not even visible any more but Billy heard his voice, barely audible, above and behind him.

“Did my brother work for you today, Billy?” Spud asked.

“Yes, he did. I saw him this morning,” Billy responded.

“Was he ok when you left?” Spud asked quietly.

“Yes, Spud, he was ok last time I saw him. He was tying up the boat at the marina and going back home,” Billy said.

“Thanks, Billy.”

“I’m sure he’s okay. He’s a pretty tough guy, as long as he hasn’t run out of cigarettes.”

“100 meters,” Reid muttered.

Billy strained his eyes past the hummers until he could just make out the blur of walking humanity making their way down the highway to the bridge. Every time the light pulsed from the ladder truck, he could catch a flash of their faces and clothes in the distance. Every flash brought them closer.

“We’ll hit them with the lights at 50, and give them a chance to stop or turn back. If they don’t, we open up at 25,” Stone passed the word to his left and right. His words carried on the sea breeze across the night.

Billy tightened his grip on the Denver tool and felt the heaviness of its sledgehammer head reassure him. He moved the .38 from his shorts to the pocket of the borrowed turnout coat so he could get to it faster. The gun would cave in the head of a shark but its barrel was so short you could not hit a barn with it. With that in mind, Billy chose the Denver as his primary arm and the .38 as his backup.

“50 meters, hit the lights,” Reid called out and the combined headlights, hi-beams, and spotlights of the two hummers shot out into the darkness. They caught the shuffling crowd of infected in full profile. Instead of stopping the oncoming crowd, it seemed to have an electric effect upon them and they began screaming and rushing forward.

Stone called out from the hummer’s public address system, “This is the United States Army, and you are ordered to turn around. You are in violation of a quarantine order and will not be allowed to pass. Turn around now or we will be forced to fire upon you.”

The crowd never even paused and like a gust of wind in a hurricane, blew forward.

“Open fire,” Stone ordered, pulling his Kimber from the holster on his side, and taking aim. “Head shots only,” he added.

Shotgun blasts and pistol cracks rang through the night as the pack of thirty or more infected of all ages, races and sizes broke into a run towards the headlights. Infected fell forward but not all of them stayed down. Some took horrible hits to the chest but only staggered and kept coming. In the 25 meters of distance from where the MPs had opened fire to the hummers, all but a dozen of the infected were dropped.

Durham was reloading his shotgun as the first of the infected reached the hummer. Stone extended his Kimber into the face of the 300-pound assailant and fired a double-tap into his forehead. Durham butt-stroked a second one crawling over the hood with his shotgun, which promptly broke the weapon in half, in exchange for only slowing the creature down. Reid emptied his Beretta into a young infected woman dressed only in a sports bra just as a second MP sideswiped her friend in the face with the T-handled shovel. Another of the enlisted MPs held her Beretta like a dueling pistol skyward before taking careful aim at a pair of elderly infected bringing up the tail end of the attack.

Billy rotated the handle of the Denver tool as he watched the fight from his position on the side of the laddertruck. Spud was nowhere in sight. The slick-slack of shotgun slides followed by the shuddering boom of low-recoil slugs echoed through the night. He saw Durham fumbling with plastic-hulled shotgun shells in the dark, dropping them as he tried to hand them to an MP with a 12-guage. The high crack of the MP’s 9mm pistol rounds going off punctuated the action. The grunts and screams of infected and non-infected alike lubricated the scene.

The combat finished with a crescendo of rounds from Durham’s Glock as he engaged the last three of the infected attackers in rapid succession.

Silence fell over the bridge with the final shots resounding down the concrete columns and out over the water. Handheld flashlights and vehicle-mounted spotlights probed across the battlefield seeking out any remaining threats.

“Shut down the hummers and count your rounds. Get ready for the next wave, good-a-go. It is going to be a long night, kids,” Reid called out in the silence. He at last spit a long wad of tobacco juice out onto the roadway.

— | — | —

ChapteR 17

Mackenzie sat quietly in the dark of the powerless bank branch. Every now and then, a sudden noise would filter in from outside. The night was filled with sirens, sporadic gunfire, and the other sounds of a city in turmoil. Occasionally a shadow would run by the bank in the night. Some of the shadows laughed or screamed but most were silent as they passed by. Several times, she had peered outside, thinking of walking to her car across the parking lot and driving away, but to where could she drive? Better to take your chances behind reinforced plate glass and brick walls than in a Honda.

The temperature had dropped what felt like twenty degrees since sunset and Wyatt, her young freeloader and refugee, had curled up on the floor. Mackenzie covered him with a jacket that had been left behind at the branch by a long-transferred teller. The lights had flickered twice and finally went out altogether. The sign over the exit remained lit in a dull red glow that gave everything in the room just enough ambient light to create a murky shadow world.

Her phone was on its last bar of battery strength, but still she hit refresh every few minutes to see if she could get any more contact with the world outside. If nothing else, it gave her something to do in the dark.

On about the one-hundredth refresh she noticed a new mail icon on her Facebook app. She sat in the dark with the white and blue screen illuminating her face unsure if she had the intestinal fortitude to click on the email. She always got the worst message anxiety about anything that could be bad news and thought about waking Wyatt just to get him to read the message because she could not bring herself to click on it.

Finally, she did.

I’ve been trying to call all day. The doctors have told me that they can’t do anything for me. One of them, who I am sure isn’t even a citizen, advised me to pray. I have a terrible headache and can barely see straight. Phil died about 8pm and again at 8:15pm. They took his remains away and said they are cremating everyone due to the infection.