Last Stand on Zombie Island (32 page)

“What happened yesterday?” she asked. She was going to jump in his shit with both feet if he did not report a combat action to her.

“I made contact with a group of citizens who brought in some more ammo, as well as some other items of interest for the cause.”

“A citizens’ group? What committee?” she knew of all the committees and each one required both her and George Meaux’s signature as the civilian administrator to be official.

“I added them as an auxiliary force to the National Guard.
Requisition Detachment
.” Stone said as they left the armory through a side door into the rear parking lot.

“You don’t have the authority for that and I really don’t like the sound of
Requisition Detachment
. What the hell are they requisitioning and from whom?” she said, stopping and facing him directly.

“They are going through the unoccupied condos and summer houses down the fort road looking for ammo and commo equipment. They boosted my stocks of 9mm and 5.56 a good bit. Guess some snowbirds had stockpiles in their vacation homes.”

She washed it around her mouth and bit her lip. “Keep an eye on them, and if I get any complaints, I am sending them right to your door Captain, are we clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am.”

“Good.”

She resumed her walk and Stone matched her step. They moved through the motor pool behind the armory. A dozen beat-up hummers and trucks were parked, drip pans under them as per regulation. No two hummers were configured alike. Some had doors, some did not, some were desert khaki color, and others were 3-color green woodland camo. The MPs had become one with their hummers. The crews who lived in them named each of the vehicles. Monikers like
99 Reasons, The Matchbox, Trunk Monkey Express,
and
Don Vito
were scrawled across them. They were adorned with armless Teddy bears with eye patches, Halloween masks, and quite often with pseudo-NASCAR numbers. Carabineers and ersatz 550-paracord hanger straps dripped from every corner holding military rucksacks and civilian backpacks. These vehicles had matching Sharpie-written logos as bumper stickers such as:
I brake for zombies
;
I support undead genocide
; and
Driving yesterday’s Hum-V tomorrow
!

“How is your transport?”

Stone waved an outstretched hand to the vehicles and replied, “The unit’s fifteen Armored Security Vehicles were left overseas on its last tour. We only came home to twenty-nine worn-out hummers and a few oddball LMTV cargo trucks. Most of the better ones are out on patrol.”

“I’ve seen a lot of motorcycles coming through town in the past day or so. Some of them with MPs.”

“I’m glad you brought that up. A few people with bikes have come forward. Some were in the unit before the outbreak and some are new, but they have an idea to form a recon unit on bikes that I’m kicking around.”

“To recon what?”

“Well, on the island for starters then route reconnaissance over the bridge during daylight. Scout out supplies, fuel. Recon only, just zip through, not engaging anything, make notes, and get back. So we have an idea what is happening on the mainland.”

Reynolds nodded in agreement. “That sounds good. I just sent the
Fish Hawk
out yesterday to check out Mobile on basically the same rules of engagement.”

“What did they find?”

“Nothing but bad news. The town is infected as far as they can tell, as are both sides of the bay. Jarvis is getting me a full written report today and I will get a copy over to you.”

“Thank you. I think the bikes are still a good idea though. They may find something that Jarvis and the cutter can’t see from sea.”

“Go ahead and put something together and keep me informed. No more than two people at a time. They have to stay in contact with the TOC and be back across the bridge before nightfall.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And if they get into something they can’t get out of, we don’t have the resources to mount a rescue. Be sure they know that before they leave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How do you have your personnel deployed overall?”

“I had two medics left that we sent on detachment to the Fire Station to work the aid station there. We have eight guard posts around the island that are staffed by a rotating twelve-hour shift. Two gunners on the Q-boat. A beach patrol checks every foot of sand twice a day. Then there is of course the rapid reaction team and the bridge detail.”

“How are things at the bridge? I haven’t been back there since that morning I ran across it.”

“Would you like to see for yourself? I was just leaving for there when I ran into you.”

“Let’s.”

««—»»

“You ever been to Iraq, ma’am?” asked the young female MP, Specialist Wright, from under a desert camouflaged Kevlar helmet. She sat in the rear of the beat-up hummer next to Reynolds. The vehicle was missing its front passenger seat so Stone had offered her the rear one. The female MP was tagging along to the bridge to stand post there.

“No, sorry,” Reynolds replied. For most of the Iraq operations, she had been a stateside instructor in the MH-53 and had just recently finished transition training to the CV-22 when the outbreak occurred.

“I didn’t think so. You can always tell an Iraq-war veteran by the way they ride in a hummer. They put one foot in front of the other, good foot up, with the idea that if you got in a roadside bomb explosion you will still have the good one left,” the young MP said with the voice of an angel.

“That’s a fairy tale, Wright,” Stone said as he climbed in the front seat of the hummer. He had a Kevlar helmet strapped tight to his head and his sunglasses back on.

“Sorry, Captain, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Let it go, Wright,” Stone said, slamming the door. He tossed another Kevlar helmet over his shoulder and into Reynolds’ lap. “You’ll need to put that on, ma’am. Army regulations—no airbags in a hummer.”

Hummers do not have ignition keys but they do have pad locks on the steering wheel, and as Stone removed the one from his, Reynolds adjusted her position in the rear of the vehicle. Despite the cabin of a Humvee being seven feet wide and fifteen feet long, there really is not much room due to all of the equipment carried in the camouflaged beast.

“Do you have any other uniforms with you, ma’am?” Wright asked as the hummer started up and lurched forward.

“No, just this flight suit. I feel like Gilligan always wearing the same clothes in every episode. I was only expecting a three hour tour,” Reynolds laughed, trying to make a joke, which seemed to fly right over the younger woman’s head.

“You look about my size. I have a few extra uniforms you can have that should fit. That is, if you want, ma’am,” Wright said.

Reynolds was touched. Clean clothes and from such a hot young thing to boot. “That would be great. Maybe I can come over and get them later. Are you bunking at the armory or do you live local with your husband…”

“Oh no, I’m not married. I got 134 marriage proposals when we went to Iraq, all from the stinks,” said Specialist Wright with a giggle.

Reynolds laughed along with her and inched her knee over just close enough to touch the specialist’s. As they took a corner hard the Major looked down into an ACU colored 3-day pack on the floor of the hummer and noted a vodka bottletop poking out of the bag.

“Been taking booze off of the locals, Captain?” she asked.

“One of the items brought in by the Requisition Detachment, Major. If nothing else it’s medicinal mouthwash and disinfectant.”

Stone turned onto Highway 59 and began driving up the tall bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway.

In the half month since Stone and his men had closed the bridge in the dramatic stand, a rotating MP roadblock had kept it shut down. Stone had advised her that every day they engaged a few infected, killing almost a hundred in the past fifteen days. Occasionally they had a survivor or two walk up, shell shocked and half-crazy. These they would shuttle to the city jail to be locked up for 72-hour quarantine before given a new home in one of the thousands of available condos and resort hotel rooms on the island.

Stone pulled in behind the roadblock and shut off the hummer as they came to a stop. As the group dismounted the vehicle, Wright reached behind her seat and pulled out a plastic drip pan on a chain that she slid under the hummer to catch leaking fluids.

“Walk with me, ma’am. I’ll give you the grand tour.” Stone said, already stepping forward from the hummer.

The roadblock was the front line of the island’s defenses. The bridge was the only remaining connection that they had to the outside world. Across the bridge, going north was referred to interchangeably as
Zombieville
,
Dead City
, and
Maggot Town
. Two handmade plywood signs were posted sandwich-board style at Post one. One read:
Zombies Ahead Next 3000 miles,
the second:
Here lies the end of the world.

The roadblock consisted of a huge Gulf Shores Fire Department laddertruck stretched across all lanes; its ladder like the arm of a tollbooth to let vehicles pass if needed. Sandbags, an old green 18-foot wide GP medium army tent, a generator on a trailer, and a machinegun emplacement all abutted the laddertruck and completed the roadblock. Only one MP, a fat man with a red face wearing mismatched camouflage sat at the roadblock next to a radio and a sound powered phone resting on a box.

Reynolds turned to Stone, “Where is everyone?” Certainly one clown armed with a Sudoku book and a pencil was not the entire first line of defense.

Stone pointed to the far northern end of the bridge past the laddertruck, where the land touched the beginning of the span. There sat two hummers and a few prone figures lying down on the pavement with rifles. A solar powered road department sign flashed a warning to stop.

“At night we pull the roadblock back to the laddertruck here at Post 1 and nothing moves in or out. Then during the day, two hummers and six MPs move forward a half mile to the foot of the bridge. It lets them catch anyone before they get on the bridge and extends our fire zone down the road. Plus if they get jammed up, they can fall back to the laddertruck and we can send up the rapid reaction team from the Armory within minutes,” Stone explained as they walked to the foot of the bridge. Specialist Wright stayed behind with the laddertruck.

Reynolds remembered running across that bridge in the early morning sunrise dew, her crash helmet hiding the exhaustion and fear in her eyes. She remembered how she had not even looked back as the cop, followed by Harris and Stone, ran past her. When she was told later that the cop had been killed, she felt bad for his family, but would not have traded places with him. She had not been there since then and, while it was less dangerous, it was no less ominous.

As they approached, a young girl, even younger than Specialist Wright, stood tall at attention and called out, “Attention on deck,” in a teenaged voice.

Two MPs inside the hummer only half-turned in their seats to see who was coming up behind them. The three prone on a pad made of sleeping bags and a few sandbags, moved not at all.

“Damn it, Oswald, cut that crap out,” Stone said to the young female MP standing at ridged attention and returned her sharp salute casually. “No more salutes or exposing your position in the field or I’ll discharge you and send you off to the wharf to unload shrimp all day.”

“Sorry, sir,” the girl stammered and tried her best to look sloppy and casual with horrible results.

“This is your JROTC group commander,” Stone said to Reynolds, gesturing to Oswald.

Reynolds extended her hand to the teenager and shook it with a smile. “I heard you are quite a good shot.”

The girl blushed and smiled back, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Have you guys seen any today?” Stone asked.

“Just one so far. He did not come within range though. But we are keeping an eye out,” Oswald said

“How do you know he wasn’t in range?” Reynolds asked.

The girl pulled out a small notebook from the shirt pocket of the Army ACU jacket she wore and flipped it open before handing it over to the Major. It had a carefully hand-drawn map of the area just north of where they stood. On it, reference points such as
wrecked Hyundai 740 meters
and
gas station sign 1200 meters
were sketched out and noted.

“Pretty smart,” said Reynolds as she handed the pad to Stone.

He took one look at it and tossed it back to Oswald. “How did you get these ranges? You aren’t allowed north of this spot.”

“Mr. Johnny has a laser rangefinder, so he lased everything we could out to 2000-meters and noted it. I was going to make a down-range map from the laddertruck when we pull back tonight,” the tiny sharpshooter explained.

A barely audible digital alarm chimed from the phone in the pocket of Oswald’s jeans and she reached in and turned it off. Most people still carried their phones, even though there was no network left to support them. They recharged the devices as best they could from car chargers and the few enterprising people in town who had set up charging stations with a generator and spaghetti of extension cords and power strips.